


The House of Three Skylarks

by Mira



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-10-16
Updated: 2006-10-16
Packaged: 2017-10-16 23:57:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 20,482
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/170738
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mira/pseuds/Mira
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Like radiation, Rodney was everywhere, snapping his fingers, talking too loudly and far too quickly, and now, like radiation, he was undergoing exponential decay.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The House of Three Skylarks

**Author's Note:**

> Beta by [Ciderpress](http://ciderpress.livejournal.com), [Auburnnothenna](http://auburnnothenna.livejournal.com), and the [Lady of Asheru](http://lady_of_asheru.livejournal.com), with encouragement from [Namastenancy](http://namastenancy.livejournal.com).

_Six: A Shadowy Trace_

John didn't believe in ghosts. He didn't believe in any supernatural phenomena, and learning about stargates and wormholes and Ancients and ascension only made him less likely to believe in the supernatural. Gods, ascended beings claiming to be gods, or snake-like creatures inhabiting humans who claimed to be gods: all bullshit.

So it was bullshit when he overheard whispers that Rodney was haunting Atlantis. He overheard it in the mess, when he passed the Marines, two claiming to have seen Rodney while they were on duty in the gateroom one night. An oceanographer, Banks, who'd been stung by a jellyfish claimed he'd seen Rodney the night he'd spent in the infirmary. That was definitely bullshit; the oceanographer hadn't even been stationed in Atlantis when Rodney had been around to terrorize non-physicists. But then John had overheard Miko, her hair falling into her eyes, whispering to her newly-arrived cousin that Dr. McKay sometimes visited the labs. John had seen little saki-sized cups full of Rodney's favorite sweets left out at night in the labs; he'd even stolen a few Tootsie Rolls before he realized he wasn't just feeding his sweet tooth but rumors about Rodney's ghost.

He still took the Tootsie Rolls though because, as Rodney would have said, _Tootsie Rolls_.

But when Elizabeth joined in, he knew he had to do something. "He walked right through me," she said, rubbing her forehead.

"Now, Elizabeth," John said gently. "You know that's not possible. Have you talked to Carson?"

She gave him a look, one Rodney might have given him. "Of course it's possible; this is _Atlantis_ ," she said, and he had to laugh and shake his head. "You're not seriously suggesting this is a symptom of menopause, are you?"

"Um, no? But I still want you to talk to Carson." He hesitated, and then said, "Actually, I've heard this before. I suppose I should do something, try to sort it out. Probably one of the newer scientists thinks it's a good joke. Maybe that Banks guy."

"If that's the case, I'll work on a suitable punishment," Elizabeth promised.

John talked to Lorne afterwards; it turned out he'd seen Rodney, too. "Well, I wasn't going to say anything," he explained. "You two were so close, and his, well. Anyway. Yeah, I saw him. In, well, in your favorite jumper."

"You saw Rodney's ghost in a jumper."

"Look, I know it isn't possible. I don't know what I was really seeing. It was late, I was tired, it was dark, and it was just a movement that caught my attention."

"But something made you think it was Rodney."

Lorne hesitated for a long time, not meeting John's eyes. Finally, he said, "I knew Rodney pretty well. Yeah." He looked at John. "It was Rodney. He was my friend, too, John," he added softly.

"I know," John said, but it hurt, that so many people thought they were seeing Rodney. "Okay," he said, trying to sound resolute. "Let's put together a list of all the times and places he's been seen, and who saw him. Maybe there's some kind of pattern."

"I'll get right on it," Lorne said. He hesitated, and then said, "If I see him again, I'll try to talk to him."

John didn't know how to respond, so he just pulled out his notepad. "So when was it that you thought you saw him?"

~ ~ ~

 _Nine: How many losses does it take to stop a heart_

He'd kept a list, of course; Rodney had kept lists about everything. Usually in his head, of people who'd offended him or pissed him off, lists of things to do, personnel concerns, needed supplies, military irritations, and who knows how many other lists, on his computer, on scraps of paper that littered his desks, on yellow stickies stuck to his laptops, and a few times scrawled on the palm of his hand. So it was no surprise to John to learn that Rodney had kept a list of beds he'd slept in.

"Chronological, reverse chronological, preference, reverse preference, or alphabetical?"

"Reverse alphabetical," John suggested, but Rodney glared at him. "Okay, preference."

"Oh my god, that bed on Maui, remember? At that estate they put us up at, after the Stargate program went public? Do you remember?" Rodney sighed.

"Was it the bed, the room, or the place that gets such high marks?"

"All of the above. Plus what happened _in_ the bed," Rodney said, leering at him.

John leered back, and they laughed. "Yeah, it was good. We always said we'd go back, but we never did."

"Well, it's a galaxy away. Plus we've been busy." Rodney waved a hand. "And there've been other beds. Like the state bed on P7X-whatever."

" _That's_ your second favorite?"

"Okay, no, but it was memorable."

"Trying to sleep with all those people watching us? Yeah, _memorable_ is one word for it." He grinned at Rodney. "It was fun watching you wipe up your drool when you woke up, though."

"Asshole. All those people _staring_ at me." John watched as he sipped iced coffee. "And the ritual beforehand."

"It was something," John agreed. "They cut my hair."

"At least you still had some hair afterwards. And then they smoked us."

"Like hams. Smelled good, that stuff. And it did mellow you out."

Rodney smiled in recollection. "Yeah, it was good shit. Made everything else seem not so crazy. We should have traded for that."

"Elizabeth wouldn't let us, remember? I bet Carson would have."

"Carson? What?"

"Well, it could be used medicinally."

"Colonel, that's the oldest excuse . . . Well, yeah, actually. A toke now wouldn't go amiss."

"Sorry."

Rodney shrugged. "It was a long time ago."

"But that bed. The state bed. Lying in it --"

"Stark naked."

"Lying in it stark naked with the entire village watching us."

"And Ronon and Teyla."

"Yeah, that's right. They were there, too."

"Oh, God, that's right. But who wouldn't block the memory of Ronon checking out their ass?"

"I remember the bed."

"You know what I remember? The canopy over us. The embroidered material; it was all sparkly with gold, like gold wires woven through it, and the deep red color. Elizabeth called it Chinese red."

"What I remember is how people came up to us to bless us."

"With incense that made me sneeze. Why couldn't they have used more of that dope? I'd like some now."

"You gettin' sleepy? Should I . . ."

~ ~ ~

 _Autumn Rain_

Light drizzle didn't bother John, though Rodney grimaced and grumbled about it the entire time. Ronon didn't appear to notice it, and John wondered if the stuff he put on his dreads kept his hair dry. Teyla simply pulled her collar up and kept walking.

The village elder said, "You should stay. The _srugen_ is coming. We are well stocked, well prepared -- stay with us."

Rodney said, " _Srugen_? Like a fish?"

John said, "Thanks, but we gotta run. We appreciate the offer, but we're expected."

"Then take care, friends, and return soon. We look forward to trading with you again." He slid the doors shut behind them, leaving them in a light rain.

"Oh my god, this is hideous," Rodney said, but he lifted the sack of grain and slung it over his shoulder. John raised an eyebrow; all this hiking around was strengthening Rodney, and John bet Rodney hadn't realized it. He picked up his own sack and followed Teyla back toward the jumper.

The rain got heavier, and though the sacks were thick, he thought the grain was getting wet, and Parrish had warned them that that would spoil it. All this work for nothing. "Let's speed up," he said, and broke into a trot. He heard Rodney groan but since Ronon didn't say anything, he assumed they were keeping up.

By the time they reached the jumper, rain was sheeting down. "Is this a _srugen_?" Rodney wondered, staring out the back end of the jumper. "Can we fly in this?"

"I can," John answered, settling into his seat. He was wet clear through and anxious to return to Atlantis. He heard the hatch closing, and then Teyla draped an emergency blanket around his shoulders. "Thanks."

Rodney plunked into the co-pilot's seat, rubbing a corner of his blanket over his head. "Heater, heater, ah, here." John felt a gust of warm air and sighed.

"Thank you, Rodney," Teyla said. John could tell she was shivering.

"Listen to that rain," Rodney marveled.

John agreed; the puddlejumper thrummed beneath the heavy downpour. "Listen to that," he murmured, as he slowly took them up. He could see the tops of the trees beaten by the rain, and standing water glinted on the ground as they soared toward the stargate. He'd be glad to get off this wet rock and into space.

As they rose above the tree line, gust of wind slammed into them; the inertial dampeners kept them stable, but John could feel it through the skin of the jumper, and he felt it tremble beneath his hands. The wind surged again, harder, as they increased altitude, and he suddenly wondered if they'd be able to get above the turbulence. At that thought, a new HUD appeared. Rodney said, "Hey, hey. That's turbulence -- is that real-time? Sheppard, this is bad, very bad."

The jumper shuddered so violently that the inertial dampeners didn't keep its occupants from jerking to starboard. "Fuck," John said, and for the first time had to wrestle with the controls.

"Seriously, Colonel," Rodney said, and John heard the concern in his voice. "Look at this," he said, pointing at the new HUD, "the wind, it's transitioned into chaotic flow -- and here -- see, the drag -- oh!"

"I'm taking her down," John said. "Hang on." The jumper seemed grateful to sink out of the chaos of the upper atmosphere, though she set down more heavily than he was used to, and the lights flickered. "Rodney?"

"Yes, yes. I'm checking. I think the bouncing unseated some of the crystals; nothing more than that."

Lightning slashed across the dark sky, leaving John seeing blue and yellow afterimages. Almost instantly, thunder followed, and then more lightning, a nearly-constant barrage. John put his hands over his ears and turned away from the windscreen to check on his team. Teyla had sunk to the floor, cross-legged, and shut her eyes, obviously trying to meditate through the cacophony. Ronon half stood, his muscles bunching and shifting under his skin in the flickering light.

Rodney stared into his tablet, the lightning flashing across his face making his eyes bluer than ever. John watched him as the thunder exploded around them; he could feel it under his feet.

Ronon sat next to Teyla, staring up at John, who felt the weight of responsibility to his teammates. Ronon could do that to him even more than Rodney could. John wasn't sure if they should have stayed, or left earlier, but he didn't like sitting in this tin can while the storm raged; he felt too much like the key on Ben Franklin's kite.

The wind blew harder, hard enough to send shudders through the jumper. Leaves and small branches battered the windscreen, and something thudded against the hatch, making Rodney jump. "I hate this," he muttered, and John silently agreed.

Teyla opened her eyes and asked, "Is it lightning less?"

All four turned their faces to the windscreen and waited. John slouched deeper into his seat and crossed his arms.

"That's one," Rodney said, but it was distant and pale, and John counted, "One Mississippi, two Mississippi, three Mississippi," until he reached five. "Wind's still pretty fierce," he started to say when there was a sudden _bang_ and they all jumped. Another bang, and John stood, drawing his Beretta. The jumper's exterior lights switched on, and three people came into view.

"Look," Teyla said, standing. "They are from the village. I recognize the man with the braid."

John punched the switch so the hatched opened. "Come with us," the young man shouted. "Father says that the storm will return. You will be safer with us."

John looked at Rodney, who nodded, frowning deeply. "They're right. The storm is coming back, but even if it weren't, the turbulence in the upper atmosphere is still too powerful for the jumper."

"Then we accept your invitation," John said, and swung his pack over his shoulders.

"Hurry!" a young woman urged them. "The lightning returns." She was holding something over her head, shiny in the jumper's lights, like plastic, John thought, and the wind tugged tirelessly at it, nearly jerking it from her grasp. "Please."

Rodney grumbled, but pulled on his pack and helped Teyla with hers. John drew his hood over his head, and then Rodney's over his. The wind hit him hard when he stepped out; he had to grab the jumper to keep his balance. Ronon seized his shoulders and held him steady. "Thanks, buddy," John said, but the wind stripped the words away. It was picking up, and the lightning was flashing more frequently again. He helped Teyla and Rodney out, letting Ronon hang on to them while he closed the hatch.

"Hurry!" the man with the braid shouted over the wind. "It is dangerous to be out in this." Small branches smacked into John's leg, and Rodney had wet leaves plastered to his shoulder. They followed the three from the village, ducking into the forest. The wind wasn't as strong, but it was even noisier, whistling through the leaves, and the trees themselves surged like a storm on Atlantis.

The path was narrow, winding, and slick; John stumbled once, Ronon catching him by the arm and pulling him up. Rodney and Teyla clung together. The only light came from the lightning, which was getting brighter and more frequent. They jogged awkwardly, pushing their way through the heavy wet underbrush. John's feet kept tangling in the low bushes that snagged like blackberry canes.

"It's getting worse," Ronon shouted into his ear, and he agreed. The wind blew the rain directly into their faces, so they had to bend forward, following the heels of the three villagers. Water had run into John's boots and soaked his trousers from the knees down; when he'd stumbled, he had sat in sodden clay. He saw the same smudges on the back of Rodney's legs each time the lightning flashed.

"Here!" he thought he heard someone bellow. "Over here!" He peered through the rain, but he could see only the blurred images of his teammates. Then there was a light -- not lightning, he realized, but a lantern held up. Its rays streamed out, shining on the face of a man holding it up, and bouncing off the pouring rain. In another minute, they were under a large wooden awning, the thrumming noise of the rain as it rebounded from the roof worse than in the forest. The man with the lantern led them deeper in the shelter, through two heavy doors, and finally they were inside, out of the wind and wet, their clothes steaming in the warm dry air.

"Thank you," John said, pushing back his hood. "How did you know we'd returned?"

"We didn't," the girl said. "We were out looking for Halco when we saw you land."

The man cuffed the young man with the braid. "And where were you going, Halco, out on such a night?"

"Just out," he said sullenly. "Good thing I did, too, or you'd never have found them."

The man shook his head, his mouth pursed. "Go to your mother. She's worried sick." Halco left, shambling in a way John remembered from his own adolescence. "I am Bondir," the older man said. "We met earlier, but you spoke mostly with the elders. Come with me. We will find you a place to wait out the _srugen_."

"Thank you," Teyla said, serene even as she dripped. "We are grateful for your hospitality."

"What is this place?" Rodney asked, looking up and around as they walked through a long hallway. "I don't remember seeing this before."

Bondir said, "No, this is one of the back entrances to the warren. There are several, but we knew this was Halco's favorite. It's also nearest to his quarters."

"Is he your son?" Teyla asked.

"No, his father died some winters ago. He is a neighbor, though, and his mother is a good friend. We all try to look out for him. He is going through some rough times."

"Warren, you said," Rodney interrupted. "Like a rabbit warren? What do you mean?"

"I don't know about rabbits, but we have built under this hill to protect ourselves from the weather and the Wraith." As they continued, the corridor opened up a bit, and passageways led off from it, with many doors lining all of them. There were windows, too, looking into the corridors; John couldn't help but peer into some of them as they walked past. Most had curtains pulled over them, but a few revealed kitchens or living areas. Some of the doors were open, lights spilling out into the corridor, and voices echoed.

"Is that singing?" Rodney asked, slowing.

"Yes, to cheer the children. Sometimes the _srugen_ frightens them. We sing the sun-songs on nights like these."

John nodded; he remembered sitting with his mother watching the lightning as if it were a television show. She had sung to him then, too, and he'd felt safe and loved, despite the ferocious storms of the American midwest.

"Through here," Bondir said, and they turned down a narrower passageway. "This is where Elder Kaifa lives. You met him earlier today, with his partner, Hanso."

Elder Kaifa, whom John did remember, was sitting in a rocking chair parked outside his open door. "Ah, you return," he called, puffing on a pipe. "Good, good. The _srugen_ is not safe for anyone. Where will you put them, Bondir?"

"Ah, do you have a suggestion?"

"Oh, no. None at all. But you might think about Essa's old quarters; they've been cleared out."

"Good idea," Bondir said. John thought he sounded irritated.. "Do you --" Elder Kaifa waved his hand at them, smoke roiling from him. Rodney coughed. "This way, please." He led them back to the main corridor and on, winding through the passageways.

"Quite a complex you have here," Rodney said.

"Yes, it's been a long time in the making. Every generation excavates a bit more. All right, here we are. I think you'll be comfortable here. I'll be back with supplies for you."

"Thank you," John said, and Teyla bowed slightly. Rodney and Ronon wandered around through the small rooms.

"Nice," Rodney shouted back to them. "Dibs on this room."

John followed his voice. "Dibs? Did you really just call dibs?"

"Hey, I like it; it's got its own bathroom. Or something."

"There are only two bedrooms, so who gets the honor of sharing with you?"

"You three can have the other room."

John shook his head and dropped his pack. The rooms were small and a bit dark, but warm and the air was fresh. Every wall was covered in fabric, thick and quilted, in muted colors of brown and green, with a flicker of something silver catching the light of the sconces. What Rodney had called a bathroom was a shallow basin set into the floor, with a wooden bucket next to it. Rodney stood next to John and they stared down at it. "How do you think it works?" John asked.

Rodney shook his head. "Ah, I'll get back to you on that." He squatted, peering at the wall behind the basin.

John wandered into the main room, where Ronon was unpacking. "Hungry," he told John, pulling out powerbars, water bottles, and a camp stove Rodney had modified to run on naquadah.

"Rodney," John called, sticking his head back into the bedroom. "Tea? MREs or something else?"

"Oh, hey, I've got a couple chicken tetrazzini MREs, and uh, a box of English Breakfast teabags."

"Then get your ass out here and let's eat," he said, rubbing his hands together. This was much better than waiting out the storm in the puddlejumper. The warren was warm, Rodney would figure out the toilet, and they were safe from the lightning.

It was Ronon who actually figured out the toilet. "Had 'em on Sateda," he told them, showing them the hidden mechanisms, small pedals to close or open the drains, and how the small buckets were really hot and cold water tanks.

"No privacy then?" Rodney asked, hands on his hips. John shooed the others out, sliding the doors behind him. "Thank you," he heard Rodney sigh.

"I am grateful to have been invited here," Teyla said, filling the kettle with water.

"I was just thinking that," John said, sitting on the floor next to her. He could hear Ronon in the third room; it sounded like he was unpacking. "Much better than being in the storm."

" _Srugen_ ," Teyla corrected him, smiling. "Do you wish tea?"

"Yes, please." They watched in silence as the little camp stove began to glow.

Under the hill, he couldn't hear the rain or thunder at all; in fact, he could hear very little. The hiss of the water as it heated; Ronon moving in the other room; water running when Rodney flushed. The thick earthen walls absorbed everything else. They might have been completely alone.

The scent of the tea filled the rooms, an Athosian blend they were all fond of, even Rodney. The four of them sat around the camp stove, still glowing as it cooled, blowing on their tea. Rodney yawned hugely, which made John yawn. Ronon smiled at them, the smile that John loved because it told him how completely relaxed Ronon had become with them, and how integrated the team was. These moments, he thought, made everything else worthwhile.

Rodney yawned again. "Bed," he said, eyes watering. "Too much excitement today."

"Thank you, Teyla," John said, draining his mug. "Good night."

"Come on, John-boy," Rodney said, already pulling off his shirt.

"Yes, Mary Ellen," he replied, but it was an old joke now and provoked no response. John fell into his sleeping bag, rolled out on top of the low bed that shifted slightly beneath his weight. More comfortable than sleeping on the ground or even an air mattress, he thought. He felt Rodney's weight and warmth against his back and relaxed a bit more.

"All your chicks are safe," Rodney murmured, and John smiled into the night.

In the morning, after a quick breakfast, John and Rodney took their mugs of tea with them and wandered the corridors. "Here," Rodney called, and moved more quickly. John could hear the sound of the rain again, and smelled damp air, cool against his face. Turning a corner, they found a kind of patio built out into the open air. "For ventilation, maybe," Rodney guessed.

The deck was wood, as was the overhang, and little wooden troughs ran the circumference. The rain had settled into a steady downpour, but they saw no lightning today. What sky they could see between the steep hillside, the overhang, and the heavy trees, was dark grey, and the tops of the trees were hidden in the clouds. The wind was much lighter, but occasional gusts flung the water onto the patio, so they settled at the doorway of the warren.

Gutters ran along the edges of the roof and along the exterior of the deck, filled with rivulets. The air smelt rich and new, and was filled with the sound of running water. The ground, though a hillside, glittered with water, its mirror surface splintered by the rain, a thousand tiny circles overlapping. Each surge of wind tossed the tree branches, a wet exhalation of resin and evergreen needles and damp earth. John inhaled deeply. He loved Atlantis and the smell of the sea, but sometimes he missed earth and trees.

They'd be able to go home today, John thought. The puddlejumpers could easily withstand this intensity of the rain and wind.

But for the moment, the two of them sat in the doorway, sipping their steaming tea, listening to the rain. Neither spoke. Behind them, John occasionally heard voices: a child crying, a woman's laugh, a man singing a lullaby. The rain continued to fall, the wind to blow, and Rodney leaned against John's side, silent for once.

~ ~ ~

 _One: Stream Cypher_

Rodney threw up right after dinner. He'd gobbled his food as usual, practically racing Ronon through the meal, looked up at John, his mouth slack and eyes wide, and bolted. John followed him, with Ronon at his heels.

"Great," John said. "I _told_ you not to eat so fast."

"Fuck off," Rodney said thickly, wiping his mouth on his hem of his tee shirt. "Dammit. I feel like shit."

"You need to chew more," Ronon said, staring at the mess. John only glanced at it; the sight made his stomach lurch uncomfortably.

"Clean this up," he said to Rodney, who threw up again. "Oh, for God's sake. Ronon, take him to the infirmary. I'll clean up."

Rodney was uncharacteristically quiet, and permitted Ronon to lead him down the corridor. John sighed, and went to the kitchens for a bucket and mop. He nearly puked himself, but by taking frequent breaks and breathing deeply the salty-sweet air of Atlantis, he managed.

When the floor was clean again and the waste disposed of, he washed his hands and face and drank a big glass of cool water before heading to the infirmary. Silfven was there, writing something. "Oh, Colonel," he said, looking up. "Ronon took Doctor McKay to his room. He'll be fine. I gave him something for the nausea. He'll probably wake up hungry and cranky."

John smiled ruefully. "No changes there then. I'll just . . ." He left and found Rodney sprawled on his bed, an arm thrown over his face. "Hey, buddy." Rodney only wiggled his fingers in response. "Can I get you anything?"

"No," he whispered. "A new stomach?"

"Doc Silfven says you'll be fine. Just need to ride this out."

"Ugh."

John turned off the lights, leaving Rodney's laptop up so its pale blue glow was the only illumination. "I should go," he started, but Rodney moved his arm. His eyes were puffy, and he really did look terrible. In fact, he looked so miserable that John said, "How about I sit with you for a while?"

He pulled the laptop to him, sat at Rodney's desk, and pulled up his own webmail, and tried to do a little work. Rodney wasn't moaning or groaning, he wasn't complaining, but his very silence pressed in on John. Finally, he turned around and just watched. Rodney lay very still, his chest barely moving. "Are you in pain?" John asked.

Rodney shrugged, a tiny move. "Not sure what I feel," he said.

"Still sick to your stomach?"

"No, well, not much. I just ache."

John bit his lip. After a few second's hesitation, he tapped his mic. "Carson, this is Sheppard. Would you come to McKay's quarters?"

"Oh, not Carson," Rodney groaned, but that's all he said.

"Well, I don't know," Carson said when he'd finished examining Rodney. "No more nausea, no fever, really nothing but this malaise."

"Look at him, Carson. He looks like hell."

"He's right here," Rodney said.

"Yes, sorry, Rodney. There's room in the infirmary; why don't you spend the night there, just in case. If you still feel poorly in the morning, we'll start running blood and urine tests. Right now, I'm inclined to think it was just something he ate."

"Oh, not in the infirmary," Rodney groaned, but Carson had made up his mind and John was relieved.

"Up, up," he said, bullying Rodney into standing. "I'll grab your sweats."

"It was nothing," Rodney told John in the morning when they met before a department heads meeting. "Not even a fever. Sorry you had to, uh, clean up."

"Well, now you owe me, Rodney," John said, smiling as enigmatically as he knew how. Rodney looked flustered, and the meeting started.

~ ~ ~

 _Seven: The Unseen Seen_

"It was he," Halling said as John entered the jumper bay, ready to make a supply run to P2X-311. He looked rattled, and dour.

"Who was he?" John asked, but Halling seemed lost in thought. "Stackhouse?"

"I didn't see him, sir," Stackhouse replied crisply, almost saluting in his anxiety John thought.

"See _who_?" John asked again.

Halling and Stackhouse exchanged glances. Both looked unhappy, then Halling said, "Doctor McKay."

"Oh, for -- May I remind you that Rodney is _dead_? He died in my fucking _arms_ ," John snapped. "I don't want to hear anymore of this bullshit about Rodney's ghost."

Halling drew himself up, towering over John. "I am not mistaken," he said firmly, his voice deeper than usual. "Nor do I bullshit."

John took a deep breath. "I'm sorry, Halling. It's just," he gestured helplessly. "I don't believe in ghosts."

"What you believe in is irrelevant," Halling said, but kindly. He rested his hand on John's shoulder. "Colonel. John. We all loved Rodney. We Athosians remember his name twice a year: on his birth day and on his death day. I do not mean to distress you. But I know I saw him, in the puddle jumper, just before we landed here in Atlantis."

John saw that Halling was entirely serious. He looked to Stackhouse.

"I didn't see him, sir," Stackhouse said, "but I did see something. Movement, and a flash of blue, like a blue jacket. Out of the corner of my eye."

"A movement," John repeated. He wanted to tear at his hair. Instead, he said, "Thank you. I'm going to take the same jumper out for a test drive. I'll let Control know." Without looking back, he entered the jumper, tossing his pack behind the co-pilot's seat. P2X-311 could wait thirty minutes or so, long enough to hit the thermosphere.

John loved how responsive the jumpers were to him. Over the years, he'd grown accustomed to them, but never bored by them. This morning he especially rejoiced in their sensitivity as he took Jumper Four up. Atlantis quickly shrank to a silver island surrounded by blue; on the horizon he could see the green of the mainland, a thin crust disappearing beneath him. Then he turned the jumper and looked up, straight through the atmosphere, into the stars of this galaxy.

He'd always wanted to fly, but knew he'd never be an astronaut. Now he was, flying between planets as easily as he had flown between cities. He could fly forever in a jumper, fly until he starved to death, and still the jumper would continue on.

No noise disturbed him, no motion but the slow movement of the stars as he flew out of the world. He lost track of time, watching those stars, breathing deeply, relaxing out of the hyper-vigilant state that Halling's words had pushed him into. Halling was a good man, but he was getting on, and carried many responsibilities. And Stackhouse had said he'd seen nothing.

When the weight on John's chest had completely gone, and his head no longer throbbed, he turned the jumper around and began the return to Atlantis. The world was tiny, and shrouded in dark; he was approaching from the southern pole, where it was night. As he drew nearer, he saw a nearly perfect circle around the pole glowing deep green, rippling like curtains. The aurora australis blazed and dimmed and blazed again, a bitter green against the soft blue of the ocean. He stared at it, wondering what Rodney would have said about it. "Solar wind," no doubt. "Magnetosphere." He could almost hear the words in Rodney's voice. But even he would have found this beautiful.

John flew out of the trembling darkness and around the world, back into day, back to Atlantis. "Control, this is Jumper Four," he said. "Off to P2X-311 to deliver the payload and pick up our supplies. Estimated time of return: thirteen thirty."

"Roger that, Jumper Four," Control said.

"We'll have a late lunch," Teyla added.

"Roger that, boss," John replied, smiling. Maybe Halling had told her what had happened in the jumper bay, but she sounded her usual serene self. "See you soon."

~ ~ ~

 _Two: A New Algorithm_

"We cannot trust them," John said. He stared at Elizabeth, willing her to listen to him. "They've never done anything to earn our trust."

"They have," Elizabeth insisted. "Ladon Radim has been a friend to Atlantis. He isn't Kolya, he isn't Cowan. Yes, he has his own agenda, but we share it: to defeat the Wraith."

"He might, but how many of his followers are secretly spies for Kolya?"

"John, it's done. I've invited a delegation of Genii to Atlantis to discuss long-term strategies. They'll be here in two days, so you have time to do whatever you think needs to be done to protect Atlantis." He opened his mouth to object, but Elizabeth simply held up her hand. "Let's take this off-line until after the meeting."

John subsided, trying not to twist his mouth in irritation. The agenda was lengthy and focused primarily on prioritizing repairs and retrofitting the infrastructure of Atlantis. Necessary, yes, and John had to pay attention and make intelligent comments, but in the back of his head, John was already listing what needed to be done to prepare for the Genii. An inventory of weapons, a meeting with Lorne and Radnor, who needed to be where, and when, and for how long . . .

Rodney caught his eye, and John knew that Rodney agreed with him. Radim hadn't tortured John, but Kolya had, and they were both Genii. Rodney hadn't forgotten that, nor would he forgive. Not that Elizabeth would forget or forgive, either, but she was a diplomat and skilled in negotiations. John admitted to himself that the Genii, under different circumstances, could be good allies. But they weren't different circumstances.

Radim and his entourage arrived midday, six of them following Radim around in their proto- _Schutzstaffel_ uniforms with matching caps, standing at attention. John felt compelled to slouch in their presence, and he was glad for his tee-shirt and grateful for his Beretta.

"It's good to see you again, Elizabeth," Radim said, bowing slightly before taking Elizabeth's hand. Very gallant, John thought, feeling his mouth purse. "Thank you for this invitation."

"And thank you for coming, Ladon. Let's adjourn to my office. I would like a cup of tea; may I offer you one?"

John stayed with Rodney watching them climb the stairs to Elizabeth's office, Lorne following closely, followed by two of Radim's men. "We should get up there," Rodney said, but he didn't move. John sighed, and, glancing at the Marines on the floor, nodded.

Elizabeth and Radim were already settled at the conference table, and she was pouring him a cup of tea. "Gentlemen," she greeted them, not looking up from the steaming teapot. "Would you like some? It's _hari_ flower tea, and there are _nux_ cookies."

"Yes, yes," Rodney said enthusiastically. John refrained from smacking his shoulder and just sat next to him, accepting a cup of the tea. He did like _hari_ flower tea.

"Thank you, again, Ladon. Some time ago, you helped us locate John when he'd been kidnapped by Kolya." John stared into his cup, wishing Elizabeth had phrased that differently. "Since then, we've run into a new, ah, difficulty."

"We will help if we can. You know we are not a wealthy people, and that we are much splintered since Cowan's disappearance."

"Yes, of course." Elizabeth hesitated, and John could hear Rodney chewing energetically on a _nux_ cookie. "A few weeks ago, we discovered another civilization in the Pegasus Galaxy, one that has kept to itself for thousands of years. We thought they were Ancients; they told us they were. But in fact, they were, ah, machines that look like humans. They'd been created by the Ancients as tools and weapons, and then left behind when the Ancients fled to the Milky Way galaxy."

"Machines," Radim said, frowning at her.

"Yes. They call themselves the Asurans, but they were literally created by the Ancients. They've evolved over the millennia, and they are hostile. We want to share this information with you for two reasons: so you'll know to avoid them, and in case they try to return to Atlantis, we'd like to be able to call on you for assistance."

Radim nodded, sipping at his tea. John leaned further back in his chair, watching Radim closely. He looked interested, and intelligent, and dangerous. "Thank you, Elizabeth," Radim said at last, "for sharing information about the Asurans. We have not encountered them."

"I hope you do not," Elizabeth said earnestly.

"As do I. Do you believe they have plans for Atlantis? Is that why you called me?"

"I fear it, yes. They've come once, and very well may regroup and try again to take the city. If they do, may I call you? Would you help us?"

Radim set down his tea cup and folded his hands on the table. "If it were just up to me, the answer would be yes. I hope you know that. But I am responsible for my people, and must ask for something in return."

"Of course, absolutely. And that's why we're here today: to come to some agreement."

"Our scientists have a theory. They call it _mutual assured survival_. The idea is that to cooperate with competitors is in the long run more advantageous than to compete with them. Cowan, unfortunately, disagreed with the theory; he never understood the math."

"Prisoner's dilemma," Rodney said, looking interested. "You know that?"

"Yes, of course. It's one of the biggest divisions in the Genii. We have scientists who've devoted their entire careers to working out the logistics of the problem."

"And you realize that cooperation is more productive than competition," Elizabeth said, smiling at him. "Let us cooperate with you, Ladon. You know what we can offer; you know that we, like the Genii, are not wealthy. But we are hard workers, we are productive, we have allies."

"You have Doctor McKay," he said, and John sat up straight.

"What does that mean?" he asked.

"I am not threatening anyone," Radim said, raising one hand. "I'm a scientist. I know his value. I'm asking for his help in fighting the Wraith. We have plans, but they aren't ready. With the help of Atlantis, we might be able to strike back at the Wraith."

"Be specific," Rodney barked at him.

"Not at the moment. Elizabeth, let's come to an agreement in principle. Then we can involve Doctor McKay."

Elizabeth looked coolly at Radim for several seconds before nodding. "John, Rodney. I'd like to speak to Ladon alone for a few minutes. If you wouldn't mind?"

"I would mind," John said firmly. "McKay is the chief science officer, and I'm the base commander. This is our decision as well."

"Colonel Sheppard," Radim said. "I appreciate your position, and in fact, I agree with you. But I too would like just a moment with Elizabeth. What I have to say to her is for her ears only."

"Please, John," she said.

He sighed, and slowly stood, turning to Rodney, who looked thunderous. Rodney shoved his chair back and stalked out, pausing at the door to wait for John. "In five minutes, no matter what, we're coming back in," John said.

Radim nodded his head. John stood just outside the conference room and watched as the doors slid shut. Radim's men looked as uncomfortable as John felt; Lorne looked as angry as Rodney. John checked his watch compulsively, but after only three and one-quarter minutes, the doors opened again.

Elizabeth was a little pink in the face, and smiling, and to John's shock, Radim was, too. "Thank you," she said. "Um. Well, let's get started on the negotiations, shall we? Ladon?"

"Of course." He beamed at John and Rodney; John longed to hear the sound of Radim's nose crunching under his fist, but he sat quietly and listened. Rodney pulled a little notebook from his back pocket, clicked his pen a few times, and started taking notes. "As you know," Radim said, "we have suffered greatly from the development of what you call nuclear weapons. I understand that you don't want to give us a triggering device, but surely you could assist us in the development of safety and shielding devices and techniques, and with treatment for people suffering from radiation poisoning."

"No triggering device?" Rodney asked. John didn't believe Radim, either.

"No. Perhaps someday, but not now. We aren't willing to share all our military secrets with you, so I won't ask you to share all of yours with us. But shielding? Medicine? In return for our assistance if the Asurans return."

"Or anyone," John said. "If the Wraith come and we need a place to hide."

"If they come to us, would you put us up in Atlantis?" he countered.

"On the mainland," John said firmly.

"There's no gate on the mainland."

"We'll ferry you there, same as we do the Athosans."

"Tava beans," Rodney said suddenly. "What can we trade for them?"

"Tava beans?" John looked at him disbelievingly.

"They make a pretty good soup," he said, lifting his chin.

~ ~ ~

 _Ten: to lay waste to the vocabularies of desire?_

"No, I'm not getting sleepy. Let's see. Maui. The state bed on P7X. Uh, the captain's bed on the _Glorious Gull_."

"Nooo," John said, covering his eyes. "I get seasick just thinking about it."

"Wuss. What kind of pilot gets seasick?"

"I don't get airsick, but on the water, going up and going down and going up and going down --"

"Okay, okay, I take your point." They grinned at each other. "But it was cool. The windows --"

"Portholes."

"The portholes open, that sea breeze blowing, and seeing all those stars at night. The sunsets. Being brought breakfast in bed."

"That was very cool, once we left the ocean and were sailing up that river. Why didn't we go back?" John wondered.

"First contact team. Once we made contact and came home, it was up to Lorne's or Stackhouse's team to follow up. But I wish we'd just gone back to visit. It was heaven." John nodded, and watched as Rodney wrapped his fingers around John's hand. "It really was heaven. So. Those are my favorites."

~ ~ ~

 _Winter Snow_

"What does the database say?" Elizabeth asked, frowning at Rodney.

"I'm not a meteorologist," he reminded her. "But Doctor Tjnqvist says there is a history of blizzards on this planet. Not frequent, and they're usually closer to the poles, not in the mid-latitudes where we are. But he says it's not unheard of."

"Have him send me a summary report," she said and turned to Radek, who said, "Yes, well, I'm not a meteorologist, either, but I have lived in snow country most of my life, not just Antarctica," he said, pushing his glasses up his nose.

"Hey, we all lived in Antarctica for a while," Rodney said, and Radek's dimples flashed. John noticed Elizabeth's tiny smile at that.

"Yes, Rodney, we know," Radek said. " I have been tracking polar low pressure systems. There is a massive one reaching down toward Atlantis. Originally, it was several systems that merged --"

"Hey," John interrupted. "Like in that movie we saw, uh, _Day After Tomorrow_."

"Oh, please," Rodney started, but Elizabeth held up her hand.

Radek continued. "Several smaller ones that merged, and now it's heading toward us. It's quite interesting, watching the temperature gradient. Doctor Tjärnqvist has recorded drops from fifteen to twenty-six below in less than an hour."

"Celsius?" John asked. "That's, uh, wow, from sixty degrees to fifteen below?"

Radek nodded. "Wind speeds are quite high, too."

John leaned forward at that. "What do we need to do to prepare?"

"Well, batten down the hatches, I think you say."

"If I were Navy, yeah. Specifically?"

"Recall everyone from off-world missions. Evacuate the mainland. Keep everyone inside. Close down Atlantis as much as possible."

"What about heat?" John asked.

Rodney said, "We should be okay. We have the naquadah generators, and we're surrounded by water. The lower levels of the city will naturally be warmer because they're insulated by the ocean. But we need to block off the upper levels."

Elizabeth asked, "The farms on the mainland? The gardens on the south pier?"

Radek shook his head. "We'll need to discuss this with the people who know, but I think we'll lose whatever's left."

"Most of the stuff has already been harvested," John put in, remembering hauling bushels of tomatoes, corn, apples, and the Athosian equivalents. "We should check with the kitchens, though, to be sure they're stocked with everything they might need."

Elizabeth sighed and looked around the table. "Well, we all have something to do. In addition, we'll use this to update our emergency preparedness and response plans. Please note all you do and get it to me so I can collate it. We'll meet daily until the danger has passed. Thank you all." She rose, and chairs scraped as they all backed away.

John walked with Rodney and Radek, who were discussing Tjärnqvist. "Have him come to the next meeting," Rodney said. "You don't have to be a weatherman, but it would help."

Radek nodded, his hair flopping wildly. "I see him right away." He split off, presumably heading to Tjärnqvist's lab.

"You really think it's going to be that big a storm? That we need to worry, here in Atlantis?" John asked Rodney quietly, aware of the Marines watching them as they passed in the corridor.

"Hmm, well, on the mainland, yes, definitely. Teyla and Halling will need to get all their people here, just in case. But in Atlantis -- I don't think so. As long as everyone uses some common sense, which is unlikely, we should be okay. People are so idiotic that I'm sure we'll lose someone, or at least some fingers to frostbite, but other than that, I think it'll be like any other day."

John felt comforted. He awkwardly patted Rodney's arm and headed toward his own office. He needed to meet with Lorne to coordinate closing down Atlantis, especially the upper portion. He knew some of the men like to hang there during off hours; that would have to change.

He asked Lorne to attend the next morning's meeting; Timo Tjärnqvist was there, too, a tall thin man with very blond hair and smoke-grey eyes. "Yes, you see right here," he said, using a laser pointer on the powerpoint behind Elizabeth's head. "It's the contrast between the warm air around Atlantis, here in the mid-latitudes, and the polar air. There's a strong jet stream diving into the trough axis aloft from the developing low pressure, here." He stared at the glowing screen. After a moment, Elizabeth cleared her throat. "Yes, this is called _bombogenesis_. Right here, where the thermobars -- those lines -- are closest? That's showing a drop of thirty millibars in twenty-four hours. That's extraordinary. That's a bomb."

"Will it happen here?" Elizabeth asked. "And if it does, what will the effects be like?"

Timo smiled. "Spectacular, I do think, and of course, dangerous, if the worst comes to pass. Bear it mind, it probably will not. There's still thousands of kilometers between us, and predicting weather is for fools, not scientists."

Elizabeth raised her eyebrows at that, and John stifled his laugh. Rodney probably agreed; he seemed to consider anything not math or physics to be a soft science, not just the social sciences.

"Well, better to be safe than sorry," Elizabeth said. "Best case scenario is we'll be prepared for when the storm of the century does arrive. John?"

"Lorne and I have patrols working their way through the city, making sure all windows in the upper levels are closed. No one lives above the fourth level, so we've made the fifth level and above off-limits. That goes for everyone, not just the military," he added looking around the table. "Get that information to your staff. I imagine that some people will be anxious to see the storm, whatever it's like; we need to find someplace safe for observation."

Carson said, "No matter how safe, we need to be sure people are dressing in layers, and we must all be on guard for excess alcohol consumption. We all like a nip to keep us warm, but in fact, it causes our bodies to lose heat more rapidly. As does caffeine, Rodney," he added.

Rodney rolled his eyes. "I have no intention of going out into the storm, Carson, and Radek and I calculate there will be no more than a two-degree drop in temperature in the lower levels of Atlantis even if the storm lasts for a week. Beyond that, we'll have to increase the use of naquadah generators for heat, and I already have several engineers working on retrofitting them into heating units."

"Good," Elizabeth said. "I've spoken to the commissary and we have enough supplies to last almost a year, though the food would get a bit boring after a while. Teyla?"

"My people are already moving to Atlantis. Major Lorne and Lieutenant Stackhouse have flown several groups here, and Ronon and I have settled them into the usual quarters."

"I have a suggestion about that," Carson said. "We keep having to shuffle these people back and forth. I think they should have permanent homes here. They're more than our allies by now."

Teyla smiled as Elizabeth nodded and said, "Teyla and I have already discussed that, and you're right. Some of the Marines spend more time working on the mainland than they do in Atlantis. It's good to have the Athosians among us, to share their traditions and knowledge. Teyla is evidence of that; no one in two galaxies would deny the benefits she has brought to us. So yes, excellent idea, Carson."

John said, "We've mapped out quarters for them, all on the northwest pier, facing the mainland. They have good sun there, too, so during the spring and summer they can have gardens if they want."

"And a school," Radek added. "I have spoken to Halling about this. Several of the scientists miss teaching." He spoke over Rodney's snort. "They would be happy to develop a curriculum for the Athosian children who are interested in learning our science, just as we are anxious to learn theirs."

"Very good, Radek." Elizabeth flushed slightly pink, with pleasure, John thought, smiling at her. "Let us hope this storm brings us all closer together. Well, stay safe. Keep your people indoors and in touch. I'll see you tomorrow morning. Thank you, Doctor Tjärnqvist. Please keep me posted on the development of this storm."

"It's like a storm in slow motion," Rodney complained to John as they left the conference room. "Talk, talk, talk, but nothing happens."

Rodney was wrong; the storm did come. Slowly drifting south, the polar low extended further toward them. The extraordinary quality of Tjärnqvist's work in conjunction with the Ancient equipment and the satellites that Rodney and Radek's teams had sent up with the help of John and Lorne meant they were able to track weather more accurately than on Earth. Since Tjärnqvist had come to Atlantis, they'd also been dropping data buoys into the ocean around the city, and moored a few dozen closer to the mainland. As a pilot, John already knew more than the basics of meteorology, including the math necessary to make predictions, but the kind of work Tjärnqvist was doing was closer to Rodney's work than John's. John and Elizabeth were interested in weather prediction; Tjärnqvist in climate prediction.

But right now, everybody was interested in the storm. The Storm, as John heard it. The excitement gave him a buzz, and several times he'd exchanged grins with Lorne, feeling almost foolish at the intensity of their preparations. But why not? As Elizabeth kept pointing out, even if nothing happened, their emergency preparedness plan would be updated and ready for the next time.

Tjärnqvist was wrong, too. The storm did come, but it came earlier than he'd expected. For three consecutive morning meetings, he said, "It is proceeding as projected," but on the fourth, he said, "My calculations were in error. I must re-think my assumptions. Perhaps I should also be taking the size of this planet into account."

Elizabeth said, "Excuse me, Doctor Tjärnqvist, but could you explain?"

"Oh, yes, of course. Rather, can you open these windows?" Everyone turned toward the windows beyond the stargate, visible from the conference room.

"I -- I don't know. Why?"

"Then let us adjourn the meeting to the balcony. Everyone, please?" Tjärnqvist stood, as abrupt as Rodney, and led the way out of the conference room, up the corridor, and onto the nearby balcony. John felt idiotic; everybody in the gateroom watched as they followed obediently, but as soon as Tjärnqvist opened the doors, he understood.

The wind pushed against his face, so icy cold that his nose hurt and his eyes began to water. Outside, he could hear how the wind howled as it spiraled around the towers of Atlantis, and he could see the breakers smashing against the steps below.

"When did this blow up?" Rodney shouted.

"Less than an hour ago," Tjärnqvist shouted back. "The barometric pressure is dropping steadily. There is no more time. Close the city."

John pushed his way through the crowd until he reached the balcony railing. The metal was cold beneath his fingers, and wet with spindrift. Clouds boiled overhead, dark grey and purple, deepening almost to black in the northeast. Tjärnqvist was right; the storm was here.

"Everybody in!" he shouted, turning to face them, shooing them back indoors. "Lorne, let's get these windows shuttered now." That had been on the schedule for today anyway, he thought, but he felt a bit guilty he hadn't had it done sooner. The higher levels were taken care of, and he'd send word out that no one was allowed there until the all-clear was given.

"Rodney," he started, but Rodney was already talking into his mic and to Radek simultaneously, demanding people get down to the lower levels to make sure the sensors were working in case something flooded. "Yes, yes," Radek said, and held up his hand to Rodney so he could turn to Elizabeth. "You will make the announcement now, yes? With the colonel?"

Elizabeth looked at John, who nodded. "This meeting is adjourned," she said, and everyone fled to their duties. John followed her into her office. "Email and an announcement, we agreed," she said, and he nodded. "Let's do it."

The day sped by, John cursing himself for not working more quickly and for believing Tjärnqvist's predictions, when Tjärnqvist himself said weather prediction was unreliable. Soon even indoors he could hear the sea smashing into Atlantis, and the moaning wind, and the rattling windows and their vibrating shutters. Wind crept in everywhere, which seemed impossible to him; Atlantis had been on the bottom of the ocean when they'd arrived, so how could wind get in when water couldn't?

"The ventilation system," Rodney told him through a mouthful of sandwich that evening. "We've shut down big chunks of it, but we need some fresh air. Theoretically, Atlantis herself will shut it down if necessary, and Tjärnqvist and Simpson are watching air quality, humidity, and temperature."

"It's colder in here, too," John said, wrapping his hands around his mug of tea.

"Yeah, it'll take a while to heat a place this big. Usually, just the number of bodies in here take care of that and we have to cool all the equipment. But tonight, we'll have to turn up the heat." He frowned, and John knew he was thinking about the energy required to heat a city the size of Atlantis, even just the lived-in portion.

John spent most of his time moving from work crew to work crew, checking on the quality of their work, but more to cheer them on, make a few jokes, make sure they were keeping hydrated and fed. He and Lorne worked out alternate but overlapping routes, meeting periodically to pass information.

By twenty-six hundred, John was ready to call it a day. He called a final meeting with Lorne, Radek, Rodney, Tjärnqvist, Simpson, Carson, and Biro; Elizabeth had gone to bed and he didn't want to disturb her. He also invited Halling and Teyla. They met in the mess hall over tea and cookies.

"You look like hell," Carson told them. Surveying the group settled around one of the big tables, he said, "As Chief Medical Officer, I'm instructing you all to go to bed. There's a skeleton crew for tonight, yes? Then let them do their work. They and the sensors will keep watch and wake you if need be."

"The good doctor kind of defeated the purpose of this meeting," John said, not looking at Lorne because he knew they'd crack up. "Any reason why we shouldn't take his medical advice? Doctor Tjärnqvist?"

"No, no. I'm am as tired as a Canal Street whore."

John felt his eyes widen and his mouth drop at that, and he had to laugh.

"Doctor Tjärnqvist, I take it you've spent some time in New Orleans?" Biro asked him.

"Yes, all meteorologists go. It is the mecca of meteorology. Lovely city. Terrible what happened to it."

Well, that was more than John was prepared to discuss tonight. He rubbed his eyes. "Okay, then. Bed. Lorne, see that Stackhouse gets some rest; he worked his ass off today. Rodney, don't even think about going back to the labs."

He grabbed two cookies, wrapped them in a napkin, and slid them into a pocket. Saying goodnight to the others, he waited for Rodney so they could walk back together. "You as tired as I am?" he asked, slumped against the transporter wall. Too bad they were instantaneous; no time to rest before the doors slid open and they were on their level.

Rodney yawned hugely, rubbed his face, and grunted. They passed an alcove and John impulsively grabbed Rodney's elbow and pulled him along. "What? I thought -- where are we going? Is something wrong?"

John just tugged and suddenly they were at a shuttered window. "Let's peek," he said, grinning at Rodney. They carefully and quietly set opened the window and lifted the exterior storm window up and to one side. The wind nearly pulled it from their hands, but between the two of them, they hung onto it.

"Jesus," Rodney gasped. The air was gelid, stunningly cold, so cold that the inside of John's nose froze, and his eyes watered. His fingers were already numb.

"Maybe not such a good idea," he said, but Rodney shook his head.

"No, it's brilliant. _Look_."

It was snowing. John had spent so much time in the desert places of Earth that snow, even after Antarctica, was still a pleasure. He squeezed forward, pressing his face into the narrow opening they'd made, and peered out. The cloud cover caught what little light there was and bounced it back, catching the swirling flakes. He tried to follow the path of one as it eddied from cloud to sea, but the wind's gusts and the density of the snow dizzied him.

"Smells like, like," Rodney murmured, his breath warm against John's cold ear. John moved a little back and aside so Rodney could see out too.

"Like Canada?"

"Almost, but not quite. Something different. I spent a winter in Newfoundland once, at Memorial University, the St. John's campus. It was a cold winter, and a stormy one. But the ocean smelled different."

"Well, it's on a different world." John felt Rodney's, "Hmph," more than heard it over the wind and waves. "Let's close this up." They wrestled the cover back in place and managed to shut with window with only one loud bang. When they'd stepped back, John saw snow melting on the floor beneath the window, and his sweater was damp and prickly.

"Look, we're iced," Rodney said, and pulled at his jacket. It made a crackling sound and tiny flakes of ice flew. "That was fun."

John smiled as he watched. He licked his lips, and tasted salt. "Yeah," he said, and nudged Rodney, who nudged him back. John felt mischievous, as mischievous as a child at the holidays. As John watched, Rodney tugged at the front of John's sweater, breaking the thin layer of rapidly melting ice that had formed so quickly. His touch made John gasp, and he sucked in his stomach, then put his hand over Rodney's.

Rodney's hand was cold and damp, so John put his other over it and gently rubbed, then raised Rodney's hand to his mouth, exhaling onto it. They didn't speak, except through their glances and touches. John felt the storm outside had somehow entered him, and maybe Rodney, too.

The wind suddenly gusted, slamming against the window, startling them both. Rodney squeaked and jumped, knocking into John, who caught him with an arm around the waist. He hesitated and then pulled Rodney closer who, in what John considered typical Rodney fashion, enthusiastically wrapped his arms around John, took a deep breath, and kissed John, right there at the window, the snow melting at their feet, the wind rattling the shutters.

When John woke the next day, he peeked through his window, feeling even more like a child at holidays, but it was solidly frosted. He rolled over to study Rodney, snoring at his side, radiating heat on this cold morning. John shook his head, and carefully climbed out of bed, trying not to wake Rodney. Atlantis seemed cooler to him, so he pulled on an extra sweater, then sat next to Rodney, who rolled nearer, sighed, and opened his eyes. "Get back in bed," he murmured.

John thought about for a few seconds, and started undressing.

When they finally got up, the mess hall was boisterously full, and John was reminded again of Christmas. All the interior lights were on, but as in his room, the windows were blocked. He felt almost desperate for a breath of fresh air. Rodney blearily surveyed the steam tables, commuter mug tightly clutched in his hands. "Come on," John said quietly to him. Rodney raised his eyebrows but followed wordlessly -- John knew that would change later, but first thing in the morning, Rodney was often unusually quiet.

He led the way to the transporter and to the physical geography labs, where Tjärnqvist had been assigned. He was there, along with Bruce Granger and Hidetoshi Ooishi, who'd accompanied Timo when he'd come on the Daedalus a few months earlier.

The three men were peering at what looked like graph paper to John. "A beautiful example of the Kelvin-Helmholtz instability," Granger said. "Just look at this band of clouds here."

"Hello, Rodney, Colonel," Timo said. "What can we do for you?"

"What's the temperature?" Rodney asked.

"Ah, yes, good question. Where?"

"Um, ambient, around Atlantis," John answered before Rodney could. "Seems colder than usual."

Ooishi smiled, and John realized he'd never heard him speak. "Good morning," he said, but Ooishi only inclined his head.

Timo said, "The dry-bulb temperature is minus six, though when you factor in the wind, it would feel like minus forty-five."

"That would be, ah, about minus fifty in your degrees," Rodney said. John rolled his eyes.

"Wind speed?" he asked.

"Force seven, so about thirty knots." That was roughly thirty miles an hour; John shivered to imagine it. Timo said, "We are experiencing a severe blizzard. "There is already twenty-five centimeters of snow, and much larger drifts. Visibility is only a few meters."

"You can see out?" Rodney asked.

"Oh, yes. Would you like to? Ah, Colonel, we did not mean to disobey the orders, but we are here to observe and develop a prediction algorithm for Atlantis."

"It's okay, doctors," John said. "I understand. But yes, Rodney and I would like to see."

"Good, good," Timo said, and all three practically dashed out the door, trailed by John and Rodney. "It is not far, but it is above the level you said not to go. Again, I apologize."

"No need, really," John said. Rodney never apologized when he disobeyed John's or Elizabeth's orders; maybe Timo and his partners would be a good influence on him.

In moments, they were on the sixth level on the far north of Atlantis, where technically no one should be even were there not a blizzard because this part of the city hadn't been adequately searched. But John remained quiet when Ooishi opened the shutters.

No window blocked the polar wind streaming into Atlantis. John staggered back, and pulled his scarf up around his ears. Rodney tugged his hood up and put goggles on, making him look like an interplanetary rapper, John thought. The air smelled of alien ocean and ice, and instantly froze the hairs in his nostrils. He pinched at his nose and wiped his eyes, then covered his ears. Walking forward, trying not to slip on the icy and snow on the floor, he leaned across the windowsill, right out into the storm.

"Only for a moment!" Timo shouted into his ear. "You will frostnip."

Rodney stood behind him, bulky in his jacket, and in front of him: the world, unmediated and immediate, simultaneously transcendent and immanent. John's eyelashes stuck together, and then he couldn't see anything at all. He rubbed his eyes, and Ooishi, with Granger's help, closed the shutters again.

The silence after the storm was startling, and John took a deep breath, trying to orient himself. "Wow," he said, blinking at Timo, who beamed at him.

"Yes, ja, wow. _Isande_ out there today, and probably tomorrow."

"The storm is passing, though," Granger said. "We need to capture all the data we can today. Extremes help us find the median. So if you'll excuse us?"

"Go, go," Rodney said, waving his hands at them. "We understand. I'm a scientist myself, you know."

Ooishi grinned at that, and the three men left, talking of isobars, millibars, and isotherms. John looked at Rodney and said, "Wow," again.

Rodney nodded. "The great storm," he said. "I forgot to ask how deep the drifts were. Maybe after tomorrow we'll be able to get out."

"Build a snowman," John suggested.

"I suppose we're disqualified from building snow angels," Rodney said as they slowly returned to the transporter. "At least I am. Destroying five-sixths of a solar system does that."

"At least it was uninhabited," John said. They were silent back to the mess, and separated for their breakfasts.

Rodney was right, though John didn't remind him of that, and they were able to get out in a couple of days. First, John and Lorne had the Marines remove all the storm windows and doors, stacking them carefully in an unused room, and then made sure the floors and walls hadn't been damaged. John had planned to have the exteriors swept, but the civilians and most of the Marines couldn't wait for that safety measure and streamed outdoors. Lorne claimed they'd only been looking after the civilians, but John felt the same excitement and was ready to escape into the fresh air.

"Fucking Christ, but it's cold," Rodney said, rubbing his arms. John agreed. Every breath puffed out a white cloud, and each footstep crunched.

"Grand, isn't it?" Carson shouted at them. He and Cadman were tossing snowballs at each other.

"Crazy Scot," Rodney muttered, but John seized a handful of snow and chased after him. "Get away, you idiot! I could fall and get a concussion and then where would you --" John managed to slip the melting snow down his collar. "Shit!"

Elizabeth was on the pier, too, and Teyla. Ronon stood in the doorway, the frosty glass of the opened doors framing him, and stared out. "No snow in Sateda?" John asked, ducking away from Rodney's attempt at revenge.

"Not like this," he said.

The snow mounded around them, a crisp layer crunching underfoot. The clouds were starting to break up, and streams of sunlight fell like beacons onto Atlantis. The wind had died, but John could see ripples in the snow running parallel to the wind, building to the heaping snow drifts. John knew he should start the men clearing it, but everyone was having too much fun. Instead, he caught the attention of one of the cooks and said, "What about a picnic? How hard would that be?"

"I think we can arrange something. Lend me some men?"

"Stackhouse. Stackhouse, hey. You, Frazier, Washington, and Hernandez, go with Kewell here. Kewell, quick as you can. Something hot."

"Yes, sir," he said, and he disappeared into the city.

In less than half an hour, John had a fried chicken leg in one hand and a mug of real coffee in the other. He and Rodney, carrying an entire plate of chicken, kicked at the snow ahead of them, digging a path to the steps of the pier. "Great idea," Rodney said around a mouthful of chicken. John was too busy eating to agree. He tossed the bone onto Rodney's plate and took another leg.

"Great chicken," he said, sighing with pleasure. The clouds were dissolving under the brilliant sun, and everywhere the snow glittered: white and blue and green jewels scattered across Atlantis. Kewell and Petretei had organized tables with platters of chicken, German potato salad, a green salad from stuff grown on the mainland, and big carafes of coffee and tea. John thought it was the best meal he'd had in Atlantis.

Standing with Rodney, looking out at the ocean, the sun streaming on their shoulders, the smell of fried chicken and coffee tantalizing him, he suddenly realized he was happy. A moment of peace, a moment of pleasure, the company of a friend, and fried food. "This," John said, "is the life."

Rodney nodded vigorously. "The thing is," he said, and swallowed, "the thing that all scientists know is that everything is transient, everything is fragile, everything is knowable only for as long as it takes to think it's knowable. At that second, it changes and it's no longer knowable."

John stared at him. "And?" he finally said.

"And nothing. Just, yes, this is life. This is," he gestured with his chicken leg, "this _is_." He sighed gustily. "That potato salad looks really good."

John laughed, shaking his head. "Yeah," he agreed. "It really does."

 _Three: A Red Herring_

John was late to realize there was a real problem. Sitting with Rodney and Radek at meals, he overheard their arguments, and was occasionally asked for an opinion. Finally he asked what, exactly, was wrong.

"Minor," Rodney scoffed, but Radek pursed his lips and shook his head.

"No, no. I assigned Prudhomme to backtrack the slowing processing time."

"I know why it's slowing: there are more of us doing more."

"Yes, and perhaps you are right." Rodney rolled his eyes; Radek repeated, "Perhaps."

"What else could it be?" Rodney asked.

"A virus. A worm. A Trojan horse. A systems error." Radek hesitated, and added, "A hacker."

"Hacker?" John sat up and looked at Rodney. "Is that possible? Here in Atlantis?"

"Anything's possible, Colonel. We're in another galaxy fighting vampires. What part of _possible_ don't you get?"

"Rodney."

"Yes, it's possible, but even Radek will agree it's unlikely."

"Very unlikely," Radek said, but John could see he was unhappy.

"Do I need to do anything? Say anything?" Rodney made a choking noise, but John knew he just trying to swallow faster so he could excoriate John, so he said, "Never mind. I'm sure you'll let me know."

"Of course," Radek said soothingly, narrowing his eyes at Rodney.

John took a swallow of his coffee and promised himself to check with Radek in the near future.

~ ~ ~

 _Each one came rushing through the rooms he left_

"Which are your favorite beds?" Rodney asked sleepily.

"Hmm. Uh, in reverse preference, the hammock on P3R-727, remember? It was so hot during the day, but the nights cooled down. Rocking in that big hammock, the breeze, and it smelled so good there."

"A paradise," Rodney nodded. "Though the swinging made _me_ a bit seasick."

"You didn't act seasick."

"I was busy," Rodney said with exaggerated dignity, and they laughed. "Very busy."

"Yeah, as I recall, we were pretty busy. It was cool, remember, when we lay head to toe." John waggled his eyebrows.

"Very cool." Rodney yawned and slumped deeper into the bed.

John pulled the sheet around his shoulder. "Want me to fluff your pillow?"

"Fuck off. No, actually, there's something else you can fluff."

"I was hopin' you'd say that." But John only settled back into the chair, resting his hand on Rodney's where it curled over the edge of the bed. He watched their fingers link and loosen, link and loosen.

~ ~ ~

 _Beauteous Spring_

"Hard to imagine being anywhere else," John said, stretching his arms overhead, looking up through the swaying treetops to the sky.

Rodney poked at his bared stomach. "Not that I want to, but yeah, even if I did, it would be difficult," he said.

Twisting away, John tugged down his shirt and lay back, pillowing his head on one arm. Rodney lay on his side next to him, blinking in the sunlight. "Feels good after such a long winter. Are the winters getting longer? Global cooling, maybe?"

"I'm not a meteorologist; how many times do I have to remind you? Not a meteorologist, not a vulcanologist, not a sociologist. I'm a physicist and an astronomer."

"Whatever," John said, and closed his eyes.

"Well, actually, I did overhear a conversation in the labs between Petretei, Tjärnqvist, and Ooishi, saying this might be part of a little ice age, but there's wasn't enough data from which to extrapolate. So who knows."

"Little ice age," John murmured. "Cool."

"Is that a pun?" John heard Rodney settle more comfortably, and his leg nudged John's. The sun really did feel good. Ever since the big snow all those years ago, when Tjärnqvist first came to Atlantis, the winters had been getting longer, and colder. John preferred to tease Rodney, but he had been talking to the meteorologists and geologists regularly; he worried about the Athosians and the crops they all depended on.

He heard Rodney yawn and smack his lips. "Oddly comfortable," Rodney said, and sneezed.

It was. Rodney had found this spot, trying to avoid a game of baseball. They'd had to give up visiting here during the three years of torrential rains, but this year, for the first time, the summers had been more like their first two years in Atlantis. Finally they'd been able to return, carrying lunch in their packs, and even a jug of the Ruddilian wine they preferred, and spread their blanket over the soft sand and grasses. Nearby, a stream gurgled its way to the ocean, and the gentle waves hissed on the salt-resistant grass.

The air smelt wonderful to John: of salt and water and sunshine and freedom. They'd had a good summer, with no visits from the Wraith, and tentative amnesty with the Genii, thanks to Elizabeth's tireless negotiations. Ladon was a good leader now that he was free of Kolya and Cowen. They would always be a suspicious people, Elizabeth told him, but who wouldn't be in the Pegasus Galaxy? Nonetheless, overtures had been successful, and finally they had a new trading partner and ally. John wondered if Ladon was becoming more than that to Elizabeth.

So food, and time off, and the freedom to enjoy both. John opened his eyes and looked at Rodney's face, so relaxed and open. Beyond him, the grass waved, still green and heavy with seed, but starting to gild as the pods ripened. This time of year was so rich; everything seemed pregnant and ready to give birth. The gentlest of breezes pushed at John's hair, enough to tickle Rodney's face; he jumped and huffed. "Fell asleep," he said, and sighed.

"Go back to sleep," John told him. "We're safe here. Radios are right here in case something happens, and anyway, it's Lorne and Zelenka's turn."

Rodney's gaze softened as he studied John. They stared at each other. After a long moment, Rodney said, "Hey."

"Hey." John plucked a stalk of grass and tickled Rodney's nose with it. "Don't try to bullshit me; I already know you're not allergic to this."

"It's still annoying, and who knows what I'm allergic to?"

John stuck the grass in his mouth and grinned around it. Rodney pulled it out, tossed it away, and leaned over him. "You know I don't do outdoor sex," he said in his husky let's-have-sex voice.

John rolled onto his side so they faced each other and rubbed his nose against Rodney's. "No? That a hard and fast rule you got?"

"Not sure about fast," Rodney said, making John smile. He could feel the warmth of Rodney's skin and breath against his face, and he felt safe, at home. Here on an alien world in another galaxy, he felt profoundly at home, a sense of connection with the sand and grass beneath them, the water around them, the sky above them, and with Rodney at his side.

He kissed Rodney, lightly and gently, and Rodney kissed him back, holding John's face with one sandy hand, just teasing each other, lip-to-lip, soft little kisses that grew harder and wetter until John made a liar out of Rodney and they did have outdoor sex. Clothes on but open, burrowed into the blanket, John wriggled in pleasure when Rodney rolled on top of him, his weight pressing against John's dick so firmly, in just the right places, with just the right friction.

They took their time, squirming around on the blanket, John sleepy and aroused all at once, getting sweaty and slippery as the sun climbed higher and they got more serious in their efforts. John grabbed Rodney's shoulders and held him still, pushing against him, but Rodney struggled free and twisted around until he could suck John's dick into his mouth. He knew just how to do John, how hard to pull on his balls, how much to lick and how much to suck. John groaned in pleasure, lost in the sensation of Rodney's mouth and hands, the warm air, the scent and sounds around them, until he gave himself up to Rodney, and cried out, a little breathy sound.

Rodney sucked him gently until he was soft again, relaxed and half asleep. "Your turn," he said, and pulled at Rodney until he was turned around and facing John again.

"Later," Rodney said, kissing John's throat. "Just let me catch my breath." He fell asleep almost instantly. John pulled him closer, resting his head against Rodney's shoulder, and slept as well.

The sun was low when John woke, and shone straight into his eyes when he looked out at the water. Rodney was still snoring beside him, so he quietly stripped and slid into the water. The elements dissolved in the ocean of Atlantis made the water taste sweet as well as salty, like French fries dipped in fudge sauce, and he loved slipping through the sweet and gentle waves.

He flipped onto his back and stared up at the sky, already purpling into evening, with bands of lavender and pink at the horizon and the first star overheard. He heard splashing and raised his head to see Rodney delicately tiptoeing into the water. "Come on, Rodney," John said. "It's warm."

"Compared to what? You're a member of the Polar Plungers Club, aren't you? You probably think zero is comfortable."

"Just do it," John said, feeling his mouth quirk at Rodney's expression. "I'll warm you up." Rodney gave him a look, but plunged into deeper water, spitting like an annoyed cat, and swam toward John, who wrapped his arms around Rodney's shoulders. "See? Not so bad." Rodney just kissed him, tasting of their earlier lunch, the Athosian wine, and the sweet-salt of the ocean.

They floated on their backs, bumping into each other as the waves nudged them, and watched the sun set. When it was nearly dark, without a word, they made for shore and clambered out. The air was warm but the breeze chilled John and he huddled with Rodney in the blanket till he was dry enough to get dressed.

They paused for a moment then, looking around to be sure they'd left nothing behind, nothing to mar this beautiful spot, when John, moved by some impulse born, he thought, of the quiet and peace of spending a day alone with Rodney and by the presence of the ocean, took Rodney's hand. Staring at it, turning it over between his own hands, he said, "Life is, life's like that double-slit experiment, you know? The one where sometimes light is a particle and other times it's a wave? I never thought I'd spend the rest of my life here, and not with, well, not with you."

He was a little nervous that Rodney would take his words the wrong way, and then he'd have to jolly him out of a mood, but Rodney just squeezed his hand. Only after they had ferried all their stuff back to the puddlejumper and were settling into their seats did Rodney say, "You know I don't like to use science as a metaphor. Science _is_. But we are light, in a way, so we're both waves and particles, so yeah. We're both. And I never, either. Ever. But I'm really, really glad."

John hide his smile, turning away a bit, pretending to fuss over the jumper's controls, but he knew that Rodney knew and for that moment, they were both, simultaneously, particle and wave, humans from Earth in the Pegasus Galaxy, together despite all the reasons not to be.

~ ~ ~

 _Four: Not So Red After All_

"What did Prudhomme find?" John asked Radek over the wacky pizza the mess hall had produced.

Radek pulled back a slice, a long string of cheese bridging from his mouth to the pizza. "Mmph," he said, and swiped at it with a finger. " _S dovolením_ ," he said when he could talk again. "Scuse me. Good, but weird."

"Wacky," John corrected. "Wacky pizza."

"Wacky, yes, well. Prudhomme is very persistent; I am pleased he came to Atlantis. He found a pattern to the disruptions, quite complex, but no evidence as to who or why."

"Just somebody foolin' around?"

Radek shrugged and took another bite of the wacky pizza. "Maybe," he said through the cheese.

John tried to talk to Rodney about the work Prudhomme was doing, but he dismissed it out of hand. "He's very good at sequencing," Rodney admitted. "He finds patterns even faster than the computer can. Very useful for data compression."

"But Radek --"

Rodney waved his hand. "Yes, I know, he thinks something is going on, and maybe so. But all that's being stolen is a few seconds time on the network. I can live with that."

John shook his head. "I don't like it. Think of it like crime: you wanna stop the small stuff before it escalates into the big stuff."

Rodney looked at him.

"Seriously, McKay. Let Prudhomme do his thing."

"He is. He's looking at the Ancient database and finding stuff we didn't know was there."

"You know what I mean."

"Talk to him yourself, then. But in his off hours. Seriously. The database work is more important."

John admitted to himself that the database was important; he still held out hope that they'd find information about possible weapons that Rodney and his team could develop in their fight against the Wraith. Rodney hoped to find how to make a ZPM. And they all hoped to learn more about how the Wraith came to be.

But he also cared about what was going on. Theft was theft, to his mind, whether of food or weapons or time on the network.

Prudhomme turned out to be a short dark man with a temperament much like Rodney's. "Oh, his highness has given me permission to continue the investigation?" he asked John.

"If by his highness, you mean me, the base commander, then yes, I have."

Prudhomme looked only a little abashed. "Thank you, Colonel. I've been working on it in my spare time."

"Do you have a minute? Can you explain this to me? In layman's terms?"

"Hm." Prudhomme scratched his head too vigorously for John; he took a discreet step back. "Basically, while working on a lossy compression algorithm, I noticed a slowing of the processor. This is very unusual for the Ancient computer. I thought someone was doing maintenance, or maybe there'd been a runaway query, something using processing resources. I checked the percentage of the harddisk used, um, to see if any batch jobs were queued or running, but I couldn't find a thing. I noted it, but went on with my work, since the delay was minimal.

"But it kept happening. Just a few seconds here and there, which I know, it doesn't sound like much. But for a computer? It's the equivalent of the Jurassic period of the Mesozoic era."

John nodded. "Rodney said you'd discovered a pattern to it?"

"Yeah, after a while. Smarandache sequences, do you know that? It took me a while to spot because it's following the Pegasus galaxy's time, instead of what we're accustomed to, duodecimal time. Ah, we use base twelve; they use base eight," he added.

"I know," John said. "I got that. So the disruptions, if they're caused by somebody, are being caused by a native to this galaxy."

"Well, see, that would be a logical deduction, I agree. But wouldn't it be a good way to cast doubt on a native? It could also be something within the kernel of the Ancient's computer, or in the OS itself."

"I want you to find out, Prudhomme. Radek supports this, and if McKay gives you any grief, have him talk to me. Do you need help, someone with specialized knowledge of the Ancient operating system?"

"No, not right now. I'll get right on it. Rodney will be pissed."

"Rodney's always pissed. He's also my problem. I'm calling this a security breach, so it falls in my purview."

"Aye-aye, Colonel."

John opened his mouth to correct Prudhomme, but either the guy was joking or didn't care, so he just nodded again and headed to Rodney's quarters.

"A security breach? Give me a fucking break," Rodney said. John mouthed the words along with him, which only made Rodney scowl at him.

"Give it up," John said, flopping onto Rodney's bed. "The guy's a friggin' genius. He'll figure it out in no time."

"Oh, and I couldn't?"

"Yes, of course you could. But you're our Chief Science Officer; you have more important things to do." He waggled his eyebrows at Rodney, who sighed dramatically.

"If that's supposed to be seductive, you need to work on it more."

"We're guys, Rodney. I don't have to be seductive. I just have to say that I've been thinking about sucking your dick all day, and now I really want you to flop it out and let me at it."

"Jesus, you suck at this."

"Damn straight."

They cracked up, and Rodney dropped on top of John, straddling his hips. "Don't get your filthy boots on my bed," he whispered in John's ear, making him twist from the warm breath and slippy tongue in his ear.

"God, you're getting boney," John said, running his hands up and down Rodney's back. "I can count your ribs."

"It's all that running around you've got me doing, trying to get away from hostile natives with projectile weapons."

"No, seriously. You're not the same."

"Who is? This galaxy's changed us all, and by the way, shut up."

John smiled into Rodney's insistent kiss. He stroked his hand down Rodney's back again, then over his ass, trailing his fingers into the crease, rubbing lightly, teasing him. Rodney's legs fell apart, draping around John's legs, and he pushed into John's hardening dick, moaning into the kiss.

They kissed a long time, deeper and longer and wetter. Rodney loved to kiss, he had a doctorate in kissing, John thought, and he loved how aggressive Rodney became the longer they kissed. The key to Rodney was always his mouth; orally fixated didn't begin to describe him. Best of all, John knew that Rodney would eventually kiss his way down John's body until he reached John's dick, and then all that oral attention would be focused between John's legs.

When Rodney first licked John dick, wetting it, John pushed his hand through Rodney's hair, sighing in pleasure. But his hand came away full of hair. "Jesus!" he said, sitting up.

"Ow, fuck, what? I didn't bite you."

"Rodney, _look_." He held out his hand, palm up, full of Rodney's hair. They stared at it. "What aren't you telling me?" John asked.

Rodney sat up slowly, self-consciously running his fingers through his hair. "I assume it's radiation poisoning," he said, not sounding at all like Rodney. "You know how much exposure I've had out here. Frankly, I can't believe you have a hair left on your head."

"Does Beckett know? No, of course not. Come on. Get dressed."

"Can't I have a blowjob first? As incentive?"

"McKay. Either get your ass up or I'm calling Carson to come down here."

Rodney sighed exaggeratedly, but climbed off the bed and straightened his clothing. "I can't believe this couldn't wait another ten minutes."

As he chivvied Rodney out the door, John said, "Ten minutes? I'm offended. And setting a timer next time."

Carson was in his lab, but to Rodney's loud dismay, John insisted he personally check Rodney's health. "Look at this," he demanded, showing the hair he'd kept clutched in his fingers. "And he's been losing weight."

"I've been worried about his white blood cell count, too," Carson admitted.

"Hey, that was confidential," Rodney said.

John rolled his eyes. "Fuck this. Carson, you must know that Rodney and I are together. Just consider me his partner or something. I've got a right to the information."

"Ah, well, I thought you might in your role as base commander, but spouse will work as well," Carson said. Rodney stared at them both as if they'd grown horns.

"Congratulations, Colonel!" Nurse Lang called out. Rodney smacked John's shoulder.

But that was the last joke for a while.

~ ~ ~

 _Five: Caesium_

John stood at the door, watching the hazmat-suited team systematically tear up Rodney's quarters. Every piece of furniture had been removed; they were now checking the walls. The radiation detectors they used were proportional counters, hybrids of Earth and Ancient technology, and Carson assured him they were extremely sensitive.

"You shouldn't be here," Lorne told him, coming to stand next to him.

"Bit late to worry about how much radiation I've absorbed," John said, staring into the room.

"Sir, please. Come on." When John didn't move, Lorne said, "John. There's nothing you can tell me that I don't know, and what I know is that Rodney wants you safe."

"Fuck that, Major."

"Don't _major_ me. Come on. Or I'll get Elizabeth."

John finally looked at Lorne. "Man, you play a mean game."

Lorne held out his arms and tilted his head. "Dude, I've got this wacked CO. Only way to play the game."

"Dude," John said, shaking his head. "You win; let's go. Besides, I already know the answer."

"This is Jeopardy? I'm supposed to guess the question?"

"The question is what's wrong with Rodney. The answer is he's dying of radiation poisoning." Lorne was silent at that, and John felt a little bad about being so blunt. But only a little bit. His anger felt like a heart attack, a heavy pressure in his chest. Sometimes he just snapped and was as mean as he'd accused Lorne of being, just as an outlet for the pressure. Not that there was ever any relief. "Sorry," he said after a moment.

"It's okay," Lorne said quietly. "Just -- I'm pissed, too. We all are. It's Rodney."

"Yeah." John sighed, and rubbed his forehead; he had a headache most of the time these days.

"Sirs!" Someone shouted behind them and they turned. Talley had pulled off his helmet and approached them. "Sirs, it was in Doctor McKay's closet, in a corner between the wall and the floor."

"What was?" John asked sharply.

"The radioactive element. We've got it contained and will take it to the labs for Doctor Zelenka and the others to check out. But the initial readings indicate caesium chloride."

"Holy shit," Lorne said.

"Somebody had to put it there," John said, and Talley nodded.

"No way is this naturally occurring. It's a weird fucking thing to do."

"Any idea how long it's been there?"

Talley shook his head.

Lorne hesitantly touched John's arm. "Let's go," he said. "Rodney will want to know, and Carson and Biro need to know."

Talley returned to his teammates, fitting the helmet on again. John felt as if he were under water; he could move only very slowly, and the air felt thick and heavy. The smell of Atlantis, a smell he loved, soured, and he wondered if everyone were being poisoned. When he looked up at Lorne, he realized he was sitting on the floor, his back against the wall. "Head back down," Lorne said, pushing on his neck, so he went back to staring at the floor. "Don't pass out, or I'll have to tell Rodney."

Rodney, John thought, closing his eyes. Like radiation, Rodney was everywhere, snapping his fingers, talking too loudly and far too quickly, and now, like radiation, he was undergoing exponential decay. Eventually, after enough half lives, he would reach zero. One or two, on or off, yes or no, alive or dead: it would all come to the same thing.

"Don't pass out," Carson said firmly, and snapped something in front of his face. John inhaled deeply and twisted away.

"Yuck," he said, sitting up.

"That's better. Now, keep your head down, lad. That's it. Don't hyperventilate."

"I wasn't hyperventilating," John said crossly.

"John, dear, are you all right?" Elizabeth asked.

He started to lift his head, but Lorne pushed him back down. He could see Elizabeth's trousers and black shoes. "I'm fine. Just."

"I know," she said, patting his knee. "Sergeant Talley told me."

"Biro's looking at it right now," Carson said. "We'll figure out what it is."

John raised his head to stare at Carson. "We know what it is," he said clearly, and people stopped milling around him to listen. "It's a radioactive substance that was put in Rodney's room to kill him. He's been poisoned. Carson, fuck, how did you miss that?"

Carson sat back, color draining from his face. Elizabeth put her hand on John's shoulder, her face sad and pained.

After a long pause, Lorne said, "The colonel is right; this is not an accident. We need to investigate this as a murder attempt."

"Attempt my ass," John snapped. "Rodney's dead. He just hasn't died yet."

"John!" Elizabeth said, and collapsed gracefully into lotus position on the floor next to him.

John caught her arm, steadying her. "I'm sorry, Elizabeth, but ask Carson. Hell, ask Rodney. He knows what his absorbed dose is. He tracks it the way the rest of us track our cholesterol."

"That's enough, John," Carson said softly, kneeling next to John and Elizabeth. "There's time to sort all this out when we know exactly what we're dealing with. Right now, I want you in the infirmary. That's an order, Colonel," he added, when John didn't move. Carson helped Elizabeth up while Lorne tugged at John.

"I'll get him to the infirmary," Lorne told him, and kept his hand wrapped around John's bicep. "Sir?"

"I keep telling you to stop sirring me," John said, but he let Lorne lead him away.

"This is fucked six ways to Sunday," Lorne said to him quietly. "You and I both know who's responsible."

"Yeah. Everybody knows. Nobody wants to say it."

"He's meeting with us in a couple days. I'll say it then."

John didn't have anything to add to that. He'd say it, too, and he did when they gathered around Elizabeth's conference table. The room had always struck him as cold and unfriendly, all the sharp edges and protruding prongs. Today, it seemed suitable.

Rodney was next to him, pale with red cheeks and a fizzy wheeze in his chest. When Lorne had walked John to the infirmary, he'd decided not to leave Rodney's side again. Lorne could run Atlantis; John would run the investigation.

On the other side of Rodney sat Carson, carefully attentive to his patient and friend, though John was irritated with him for not figuring out something was wrong earlier. He might be unfair, but he was angry at Carson and didn't know how to move past it.

Next to Carson was Elizabeth and seated next to her, across from Rodney, was Ladon Radim. Ronon sat across from John, and Lorne next to him, then Teyla, and finally, at the foot of the table, Captain Radnor, taking notes.

John and Lorne had sketched out how to broach the problem, but as he so often did, Rodney took care of it for them. "So why are you killing me, Ladon?"

Radim looked shocked. He half rose, staring at Rodney, then John, then Elizabeth. "Doctor McKay, please, I don't find --"

Rodney interrupted him. "Neither do I. Find it amusing. I assume you used caesium chloride because it's easy to produce? A bit slow acting, though; I would have used radium or barium. Is it easily available somewhere on your world?"

"I assure you, I have no idea -- are you saying you've been poisoned with caesium chloride?" Radim turned to Elizabeth. "You must know how highly I regard Doctor Mckay, Elizabeth. We have had many discussions about him."

"Great, great," Rodney said, his face turning redder. "You want to make it look as though Elizabeth, one of my oldest friends in this galaxy, was involved in the plot."

"No, I, what's going on? Elizabeth?"

"I'm dying," Rodney said slowly. He leaned across the table, staring at Radim. "I am suffering from excessive exposure to ionizing radiation. Some of it is my own fault, from the work I do, both here and when I lived on Earth. But the dosage I've absorbed is far beyond --" He began to cough. John silently poured him a glass of water.

"Doctor McKay, there is no reason for Genii, or for me personally, to wish you ill. None. Again and again, you have been a valuable ally to us, and we've tried to be the same to you ever since Cowan's disappearance."

Rodney flopped back dramatically, but John could hear his wheezing. He put his hand on Rodney's shoulder in a vain attempt to comfort him. To his surprise, Rodney didn't shake him off.

After a moment longer of appalled silence, Lorne scooted his chair sideways a bit, so he could look at Radim. "All right," he said. "No more secrets, no more horseshit. If you don't know about the murder attempt, you must know who would want Rodney dead. Someone who has access to this caesium chloride stuff, someone who's been to Atlantis, someone with enough freedom to get it into Doctor McKay's quarters. I've gone over the records and there are only a few people who match that profile."

Radim nodded. "I'm an obvious candidate," he said. "My personal assistant. My chief science officer. And her personal assistant. No one else."

"No one else," Lorne echoed, and crossed his arms.

Radim stared at the table for long seconds, and then he said, "I will question Tyra Mellon and Idros."

"I thought Idros was dead?" Elizabeth said.

He raised his head. "Another Idros, Tyra's personal assistant, and very loyal to her." Sighing, he said, "Tyra strongly advised me not to form an alliance with you. I thought I had persuaded her of your good intent, however misguided you sometimes appear."

"Why should we believe you?" John asked. "I can think of a dozen reasons why you might want Rodney dead, and none of them have to do with his personality."

"Hey," Rodney objected, but John squeezed his shoulder.

"I believe him," Elizabeth said quietly. She put her hand over Radim's. "Ladon and I are, we have." She straightened her back and met John's eyes. "Ladon and I have been together for some time. I don't believe he would do anything to harm Atlantis, or anyone who lived here."

"Shit," Lorne muttered. Rodney covered his eyes with his hands.

"Together," John repeated. "Okay, then you're compromised. I'm sorry, Elizabeth. Teyla?"

"Of course," she said smoothly. "Elizabeth, please forgive me, but I agree with John. You have been compromised. I hope Ladon is innocent, but we cannot know that and we cannot accept your word under these circumstances."

Elizabeth held her head higher but didn't argue. "What do you wish me to do?"

"Stop fucking him," Rodney said, dropping his hands.

"That's not going to happen," she snapped just as Lorne said, "McKay. All right, Doctor Weir. I can't say I'm wild about your choice. I won't apologize for that, Radim. Teyla, I agree with Colonel Sheppard; you're now the civilian-in-charge."

"Agreed," Rodney said.

"Thank you, Teyla," Elizabeth said quietly. She curled her fingers around Radim's; John dropped his eyes. This was so screwed.

He turned to Rodney, now so thin, his cheekbones sharp, the skin over them stretched red and shiny, his hair nearly gone, and what was left salt and pepper. "How will you question them?" Rodney asked Radim.

"Our interrogation techniques are . . . successful," he said.

"In the US military, that means torture," Rodney said.

Radim said, "No, that was Kolya's specialty. But we do use drugs that strengthen the desire to cooperate."

Lorne said, "Do it. Now. But here."

"You want me to bring them here?"

Lorne stood up, followed by everyone except Rodney. "Now, Radim. We'll send some Marines through with you, and if you're not ready to come back in ninety minutes, they're bringing you back alone."

"Understood." To John's dismay, Elizabeth and Radim swayed toward each other. They didn't kiss, but stared into each other's eyes. Then Elizabeth dropped her head and Radim followed Lorne and Radner out of the conference room.

John helped Rodney up, and they left Elizabeth with Carson and Teyla.

~ ~ ~

 _Eleven: Mouths open. Last words flown up into the trees_

"And after the hammock?" Rodney murmured.

"Hm? Oh, I dunno. What about that Murphy bed, on M6S-584?"

"Well, it was comfortable, once we'd found it."

John nodded, remembering how they'd assumed they'd have to sleep on the floor after the locals had shown them to their rooms. Ronon and Teyla had disappeared into their own while he and Rodney stood staring at the empty room. "Tatamis," he said. "On the floor, remember? So I figured there'd be futons."

"And then the fucking bed fell on my head when you were opening cupboards hunting for the fucking futons."

Oh, Rodney had been pissed, John remembered, grinning even now. "Sorry," he said insincerely. "But it was a good bed. And I made it up to you."

Rodney smiled. "Yeah, yeah. You tried."

"Did more than try, you'll recall."

"It was a good bed. Really comfortable. And big. Very big. It was the width and height of the entire wall, and oh, that mattress -- my back has never been happier." John stared at him, and he added, "Or my dick."

"Good times, good times," John said, crossing his arms and leaning back, but that meant letting go of Rodney's hand, so he slumped forward again. "You look sleepy."

"I'll sleep soon enough," Rodney snapped, and yawned hugely.

"Uh-huh." He stroked Rodney's forehead, the permanent lines creased there. "Want your shoulders rubbed?" Without waiting for an answer, he stood and began massaging Rodney's neck and shoulders. "How's that?" Rodney groaned. "Just relax, dammit. Feels like rocks in there."

Rodney closed his eyes and leaned back, swaying as John kneaded his muscles. He'd lost most of his hair, and a lot of weight; sometimes John imagined he'd just blow away in the next big storm. He swiftly bent over and kissed the top of Rodney's head.

"That better not be a comment on my androgenetic alopecia."

"I would never stoop to comment on anyone's alopecia."

Rodney rolled his head back so he could look up at John. "If I were you? I would."

"Didn't you tell me it's caused by too much testosterone? So, theoretically, your androgenetic alopecia is a reflection of your, uh, manhood."

"Nice recovery, Sheppard. Keep rubbing."

"Yes, dear."

Rodney put a hand up to his shoulders, groping for John's hand. It was a silent apology, one John didn't need or want. He kept rubbing, soothing, moving his hands more slowly. He could hear Rodney's breath even out, and knew he was falling asleep again.

When Rodney was snoring softly, John slid away, back into his chair where he'd spent so many nights. "We had some good times," he whispered. "Funny how many of them were in bed."

In reverse order of preference, this will be his least favorite bed, he knows. Rodney knows it, too, though they never speak of it. Too much radiation, excessive exposure to ionizing radiation, too much of life in the Pegasus Galaxy, really. They were having a good moment, finally, but Carson had been clear: this was a respite only.

John wasn't supposed to touch Rodney, but how could he not? How could he not kiss his lips, his reddened face, his bruised skin? He wouldn't let Rodney die in some isolation chamber. Carson's protests had been perfunctory at best, Elizabeth's more so. Biro had watched them solemnly, and then shown John how to change IVs and bedpans and wash the sloughing skin.

His favorite bed would always be their first bed.

~ ~ ~

 _Eight: A False Image_

"Hey," John said, coming to stand next to Radek.

"Stop talking," Radek said, but his voice was ragged with tears.

John swallowed, and turned to look out at sea. A light wind was blowing so the water was choppy, whitecaps dotting the horizon. The air smelled of salt and iodine. He put his hands in his pockets and prepared to wait.

Radek sniffled and wiped his glasses on his shirttail. "Who told?"

"Uh, Miko, actually. She's worried about you."

"Miko. She's hurting, too."

"Yeah."

"We all are," Radek said, and John felt his gaze like sunburn on his face. "It was a hideous death."

John shrugged. He couldn't disagree. He couldn't speak about that, not yet. Maybe not ever. They'd all lost so much since they came to Atlantis. He tried to remember how much he'd gained, but right now, waves of misery rolling off Radek like the whitecaps beyond the pier, he found it hard to remember what, exactly, he had gained. A friend, only to lose him? How was that fair? "Shit," he finally said.

"Yes. _Z technickych duvodu zavreno._ " That made John look at Radek. "I found a note I'd written, not long after we came to Atlantis. It was a little joke, not very funny. To annoy Rodney, who couldn't remember my name. I stuck it on the back of his jacket. It means _closed due to technical reasons._ "

John laughed, a short bark, despite himself.

"Maybe a little funny. He could be such a _zmrd_."

John nodded; he'd learned enough Czech slang over the years. "He could be a real asshole," he agreed.

" _Do prdele,_ " Radek murmured. He must be really upset, John thought, to have relapsed so completely into his native language. Radek rubbed his eyes, and slid his glasses back on. "I am fine," he announced, turning to John. "You do not need to be here."

"Maybe I want to be here," John said.

Radek shrugged. "As you wish."

They looked back out over the pier; the wind was rising, and the crests of the whitecaps frothy, splashing hard against the low steps beyond them. John's face and tee-shirt grew damp. He felt Radek shiver, and hesitantly put his hand on the small of his back. "Let's get some coffee," he said. Radek grasped the railing of the balcony, as if determined to remain out in the coming storm, but then sighed heavily.

"Coffee would be very good now," he said, and allowed John to steer him toward the wide glass doors. John saw in the reflection that Radek was looking up at him. "I sometimes feel him," he said quietly.

John paused. "Not you, too," he said, and pushed gently at Radek.

"Sometimes, yes. I think he is the _dobry duch_ of Atlantis now."

"I'm sorry, I don't know what that means."

"Ah, guardian ghost, no, guardian spirit."

"Rodney is a guardian angel? You've been drinking the Marines' hooch again, haven't you?"

"Do not laugh, John," Rodney said, slowing. He lightly touched John's arm. "He is here with us, in Atlantis."

"You're drunk, Radek." John hesitated, and then added, "It's been a long time. Wouldn't he, ah, go?"

"Lossy data compression. Maybe death is a lossy transform codec, and enough remains that, that I can still, that despite the compression and distortion, we can still . . ." He sighed heavily.

Drunk, John decided. Well, coffee and sleep would help. Would help them both. He awkwardly patted Radek's back again, and herded him toward the mess hall.

~ ~ ~

 _Summer Sun_

Rodney's grave held only a bit of his ashes. John had sprinkled them all over the Pegasus Galaxy: on the mainland, on several worlds where Rodney had been liked and appreciated, and of course in Atlantis. But he'd saved some for this place, not far from the beach where they'd swum and picnicked and spent so much of what little free time they'd had.

He stared at the patch, a deeper green than the grasses surrounding it. Ronon had piled small stones at one end, with pebbles on top. John added another pebble, one he'd found on the beach. It was a deep glossy black, scoured by the waves and sand. Carson had put up a white cross, even though John knew Rodney wouldn't have appreciated that. Jeannie had sent a marker through, some kind of green stone flecked with mica; carved into it was the symbol for infinity. Teyla had planted flowers opposite the marker, laughing and crying as she did, saying that Rodney would no doubt have been allergic to them.

John had watched and listened through several ceremonies. The Athosians in particular liked to remember Rodney. They'd always found him amusing, and appreciated his love of food and drink. That he'd saved them many times over the years made him remembered even more affectionately, and that Teyla had loved him meant no Athosian would speak ill of him.

A light breeze fluttered the flowers Teyla still maintained; they'd grown into a thick bunch, white bells silently ringing. Behind John, trees whispered, their needles sliding together in the wind, and he could smell the kauri resin oozing on their sun-drenched trunks. A ring of trees surrounded the gravesite; beyond them, the ocean glittered in the morning light.

It was already warm, even though it was still early in the day. After a long cold winter and a nearly spring-less year, summer flashed onto them, a nova of warmth and brilliant sunlight. Rodney would have complained bitterly, John thought, smiling to himself, and slathered them both in his homemade sun-block. But John could only rejoice in the return to light as the planet swung in its orbital plane.

He shoved his hands in his pockets, staring out at the waves. His right pocket crinkled, and his fingers wrapped around a slip of paper. On it, he knew, were the dates and times and observers of Rodney's ghost. No pattern to them: some claimed to have seen him in his lab, some heard his voice over their mics. Radek said he could feel Rodney's presence when he made a mistake, which fortunately wasn't too often. Even Ladon had seen him, or so he'd reported to John, wide-eyed in his disbelief. "He's not happy that I married Elizabeth," Ladon had said, and John could believe that much.

Within a few days of Ladon's sighting, he'd called a meeting of all the department heads in Atlantis and the leaders of the Athosian and Genii settlements on the mainland. Teyla now led the city; Elizabeth had stepped aside because of a difficult pregnancy. Halling and Sosa represented the Athosians, and Lenna and Api represented the Genii. Elizabeth had attended that meeting, though, standing next to Ladon, one of her hands in his, the other resting on her belly.

When all were gathered, Ladon said, "We have conclusive proof that Tyra Mellon and her personal assistant Idros are responsible for the caesium chloride found in Doctor McKay's quarters. Idros recruited one of your scientists, a Helena Kotsay. They became lovers. It was apparently quite easy for him to persuade her to get him access to Doctor McKay's quarters. He told her he was installing what I believe you call _bugs_ into his computer so he and Tyra could access his research. He worked for Cowan, but I thought -- well, I used to work for Cowan. I did know that he and Tyra were still committed to developing a nuclear weapon against the Wraith, but I never thought they would harm someone to achieve that goal."

"Kotsay, Idros, and Tyra are together at this moment, under guard on the mainland in the Genii settlement. The question I bring to this group is: what next? We each have different systems of jurisprudence. What is the Genii's obligation to you all?"

"What would happen if this is left to the Genii?" Lorne asked, crossing his arms.

"They would be put to death."

Halling stirred uneasily. "The Athosians do not practice capital punishment," he said. "Not for any crime."

"The United States does," John said harshly, but he could hear Rodney in his head, excoriating him for trying to use US criminal procedure in his case.

"Many countries represented in Atlantis do not," Carson said firmly. "Has there been a trial? What evidence do you have?"

"They have admitted everything," Ladon said.

"And you use drugs to compel confession, do you not?" Carson asked, but John knew he already knew the answer. They all did.

"The drugs don't --"

"Ladon," Elizabeth said, and the room fell silent. "I suggested that we all meet. I have seen the tapes of their confessions, and I do believe them. But I think all of us -- Atlantians, Athosians, and Genii -- should have an opportunity to do so. And then I think the punishment must be decided by all of us."

John left the room. He thought he heard Elizabeth call after him, and he knew he heard Lorne, but he continued walking away, not running, but walking as swiftly as he could. The corridors of Atlantis were too narrow to contain his feelings, the ceilings too low, the windows not wide enough. He avoided the transporters and fled, up into the towers, and then outdoors onto a favorite balcony, one that looked out to sea.

That day had been cold and chill, heavy clouds snagged on the spires of Atlantis and mist bathing him almost instantly. Walking onto the balcony was like walking into a sensory deprivation chamber, like looking into a bowl of milk, like being wrapped in damp swaddling. Even the world was too small for John.

He closed his eyes and dropped his head, inhaling deeply. The air was cold enough that he could feel it rushing down his throat and into his lungs. A memory of Sartrean philosophy fell into his mind, or maybe it really was the ghost of Rodney, whispering _nothing, nothing, and nothing_ ; life is unjustified, death even more so.

He exhaled and opened his eyes. Irrational and meaningless: Rodney would not have agreed. There was no ghost; Rodney was gone. Whatever meaning there was, John would have to find for himself.

When Carson came to take him inside, wrapping John's leather jacket around him, he said, "I don't care what happens to them. Live or die: it doesn't matter. All that matters is --" But his throat closed up and he couldn't speak.

"I know," Carson said. "I loved Rodney, too, in my own way. Not like you, John, I know, but he was a dear friend and I miss him every day. We'll let Elizabeth and Teyla take care of justice. Justice has no meaning for a medical doctor, nor for a military man, I should think. All we can hope for is kindness, and a bit of peace in our old age."

John knew the words were meant for Carson as much as for him; Carson was the doctor who had failed, just as John was the military man who had failed. Still, he said, "Jesus, Carson. You're a terrible therapist."

Carson nodded his head, smiling ruefully. "It's me Scots nature, I think," he said.

But that had been years ago, in the late autumn of a sad year, full of blizzards and gales, and now it was bright summer. The murk of the wearisome winter was behind them. Kotsay, Mellon, and Idros were long gone, banished to a gate-less planet; that was the Athosians' decision, and John had had no complaint. They were probably already dead and, if not, soon would be, he thought. He'd known Helena Kotsay, a strong woman; not the kind, he would have thought, to follow blindly her lover's plans, but love did strange things to people.

John could testify to that.

He knelt by the grave, clasping his hands between his legs. Rodney's ghost had never come to him. He knew that, even now, new recruits were warned of it and told to avoid Rodney's lab after midnight. Hermiod had mentioned it to John once, not long ago, asking in his oddly innocent way if this was common behavior for humans. John had shrugged and suggested he ask Caldwell, but Hermiod had given a human-sounding snort and said, "I prefer to avoid that humiliation." He'd sounded so much like Rodney for a moment that John had paused and really looked at him. But he was just a naked grey alien with a preference for human company.

"Well," John said, maybe to Rodney or maybe to himself; he wasn't sure. "Been a long time, buddy. I never did find somebody to replace you, but I bet you knew that. You could be mean as a snake, but you sure wound your way into my life."

He stood and, from his pocket, took another pebble, this one from Earth, sent to him by Rodney's niece Madison, and set it carefully on top of Ronon's stack. He wanted to say something profound, but what could he say to the ashes and flowers and trees that they didn't already know? "E used to equal m c squared," he finally said. "Still does in some parts of the universe. But not everywhere, Rodney. Not everywhere."

~ ~ ~

 _Twelve: At Home in the House of Three Skylarks_

"John," Teyla greeted him when he opened the door. "How is Rodney?"

"The flowers you planted need thinning again," he said, and then immediately felt guilty. "They're beautiful, Teyla. In full bloom already."

"All the sun has been good," Ronon said.

"Oh, and you're a farmer now?" John asked.

"You know it, Farmer John." Ronon tossed John his big sunhat. "Time to go. Parrish, Bledsoe, and Concord are waiting in the south pasture. It needs work before we can let the _geiz_ in."

"I know, I know." John crammed the sunhat on his head and pulled his _geiz_ -skin gloves on. "Teyla? Try not to do too much."

She smiled at him, and Ronon rubbed her pregnant belly. "Just sit there and look pretty," he told her. She smacked his elbow, but kissed him and waved goodbye to them, standing in the door of their little house.

"Good you came to us, Sheppard," Ronon said when they were almost to the pasture. Ahead, their three partners in farming were already at work, turning over the wet grass, Parrish on his knees, probably measuring something in the soil. "Better here, I think."

"I dunno," John said, slowing to look toward the shore. "I miss the city."

"Too many Earthers," Ronon said. "You hate that."

"Well." John tilted his head in acknowledgment. Too many Earthers was right. But he still missed the city, the city he knew in the early days, when he and Rodney were wandering its corridors, alone but never lonely, full of the excitement of discovery. He missed the sound of the city, the quiet murmur of the water and air, the responsiveness of Ancient technology, the welcoming presence of the city itself.

But the city also meant Rodney, and he was tired of missing Rodney. Too many years ago, too much pain. Ronon was right. It was better here on the mainland, living in a shanty built at the side of Ronon and Teyla's home. All new, and all his, except for a few things of Rodney's he hadn't been able to leave behind.

"Besides," Ronon added as he clambered over the fence into the pasture, "that new colonel's a real _zmrd_."

John couldn't argue with that, either. Radek sent him daily emails about the new rules and restrictions placed on the Earthers by the new guy; he was about ready to move away himself. He was old enough to retire, John thought. And he'd like it here, too.

The House of Three Skylarks, Teyla had named their home, meaning not just the buildings but the land around them that they worked as a team. Three-quarters of his old team, plus others from Earth, two Genii, and an ever-changing mix of Athosians including kids pissed at their parents; those John always welcomed. He identified with them even now. John wasn't sure why she called it that, but he suspected it had something to do with Rodney.

"Yeah," he said, jumping from the fence to land beside Ronon. "Let's see what Parrish thinks, and then get started."

They walked toward the others, the smell of drying grass rising around them, steam from the damp earth coiling toward the sun, and John at home with his family at last.

* * *

How many losses does it take to stop a heart,  
to lay waste to the vocabularies of desire?  
Each one came rushing through the rooms he left.  
Mouths open. Last words flown up into the trees.  
\--from [Last Words](http://mirabile-dictu.slashcity.net/SGA/Last_Words.html), by Dorianne Laux


End file.
